


you are the music in me

by capriciouslouis



Series: Coldflash Week 2017A [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, DCTV isn't famed for its historical accuracy, I kind of headcanoned this alternate dream world as being set in the 40s or thereabouts, I mean it isn't excessive but there are some mentions of it, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Nobody actually gets sexually assaulted but there is an implied possibility of it, Period-Typical Homophobia, Which could be wildly inaccurate but WHATEVER WE'LL GO WITH IT, also some Mick/Ray on the side because why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 00:26:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10628331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capriciouslouis/pseuds/capriciouslouis
Summary: Coldflash Week 2017ADay 7: Under The Influence (Of A Metahuman)Barry gets whammied by Music Meister, who transports him and Kara to a mystical dream world where he works as a performer for one mob boss, is an informant for the other, and everyone keeps bursting into song.Oh, and he’s dating Leonard Snart.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't watch Supergirl so all I know about Karamel comes from watching 3x17, a quick google search, and what I see on my tumblr dashboard - and none of it was particularly complimentary. The way Mon El/Tommy is portrayed in this fic kind of reflects that, so without wishing to offend any Karamel shippers, if you don't wanna see me trash Mon El a little bit... maybe steer clear? I tried to avoid focusing on Karamel over much here, but whenever they do show up, Mon El isn't really shown in a positive light. Sorry!
> 
> Just for context: Back in the real world, Barry and Iris aren't dating in this.
> 
> And yes that is ABSOLUTELY a HSM2 reference in the title I'M NOT SORRY

_“Follow the script,”_ Music Meister had said.

Simple as that. All they had to do was follow the script of this messed up musical, click their heels and boom, it’d all be over. Back in the real world where they were supposed to be. Aside from being a little random, Barry supposed it wasn’t an unfair deal. Follow the script. Well, he’d have been perfectly happy to - but it sure would have been nice to have been _given_ a copy.

They’d been hurled straight into the thick of things, left to tread water and try to figure out what the hell the plot was supposed to be all on their own. Barry, for one, did not feel equipped to deal with this hot mess of a situation. He’d just been forced to endure a chirpy musical number - and god damn, that song was going to be stuck his head for a week - and then that was it; Music Meister had left him and Kara to deal with this on their own. Barry buried his face in his hands. The only saving grace of this whole situation was at least they weren’t being forced to sing constantly instead of speaking. He thought he’d start banging his head against the wall if this whole world had to be sung-through.

“What the hell do we do now?” he demanded.

“It’s simple,” Kara said, sounding far more self-assured than Barry felt. “All we have to do is follow the script.”

“We don’t have a script! We don’t have a clue what’s going on here!” Barry ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t have time for this! I can’t be here, I should be back at the lab trying to fix this mess. I still have to figure out how to save Iris from Savitar, I have at least six future events that I have to counteract within the next two months, Wally’s still deeply emotionally traumatised from being trapped in the speed force - ”

“Barry!” Kara said sharply. “ _Breathe._ ”

Stopping, Barry tried to follow her advice. It didn’t help much, but at least it shut him up for a second. Turning to him, Kara grabbed hold of his shoulders.

“Okay, listen. None of this is happening in real time. For all we know, we could wake up and still be at the exact moment we were in when we were knocked unconscious.”

Barry shook his head. “No, because J’onn and Mon-El brought you to us in a coma shortly after you were knocked out. Time’s still passing out there, it’s just…” He rubbed his forehead. “Hopefully it’s passing a little slower than it is for us right now.”

“Everything is going to be fine,” Kara said reassuringly. “All we have to do is figure out what we’re doing here and then we can fix it. And hopefully avoid too many musical numbers on the way.” She smiled. “Why don’t you step outside for a minute? Get some air.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I…” Taking a deep breath, Kara said, “I’m going to do some investigating. See if I can figure out our plotline. I’m also going to try to find Mon-El - or whatever the hell he’s calling himself in this universe. He has some explaining to do. Hopefully I’ll find the restraint not to punch him in the face.” She patted Barry on the arm. “Take five. When you’re feeling better, come find me. We’ll figure this out together.”

“Right,” Barry said. “Okay. I’ll...get some air.”

Outside the cool night air was bracing, making the hairs on his arms stand on end. Breathing in hurt his lungs a little, but it definitely helped to clear his head. Barry stood in the back alley behind Cutter’s club, watching his breath fog the air and trying to soothe the uncomfortable knot in his stomach. Though he hated to admit it, Kara was right; there was little use in panicking. What they had to focus on was getting out of this situation, figuring out their roles and sticking to them.

God, it was galling to be gallivanting around some ridiculous imaginary universe, making a huge song and dance of things when he should have been focusing on patching things up with Iris. She was already mad at him for spending so little time with her because he was focusing so intently on keeping her alive; she thought they should be seeing each other as much as possible because ‘we don’t know how long we’ll have’, which Barry thought was morbid and horrible, and he didn’t want -

A horribly familiar _click_ made him freeze mid mental tangent. His heart jolted in his chest, then set off racing at a frantic pace.

“All right, hands where I can see ‘em,” said a low voice. “No funny business.”

Something hard jabbed him in the small of his back. Flinching, Barry raised his hands in the air. Suddenly he was painfully aware of Music Meister’s warning that if they died here, they’d die for real. This had to be part of the script, but what the hell was he supposed to do? Spin around and start singing about how much he wished he wasn’t about to get shot? Puke in the street? The second option seemed far more likely. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Barry settled for staying as still as possible and not breathing more than was strictly necessary.

“Turn around,” the man ordered. “Slowly. Keep your hands in the air.”

With a growing sense of nausea, Barry turned around. He kept his hands up, fighting the urge to run - without his speed he didn’t have a hope in hell of getting away, all he could do was hope that this was part of the story and he was playing his role correctly. Breathing shallowly, Barry lifted his gaze and came face to face with Leonard Snart.

He almost yelled Snart’s name before he remembered that this wasn’t the Leonard Snart he knew; it was some stranger with a pseudonym who might break out into song at any moment. The split second of relief he’d felt dissipated instantly. Warily, Barry looked Snart in the face. He was wearing a black suit, a dark blue tie and had a black mobster hat on, tilted at a rakish angle. It cast a shadow across his face. In spite of that, Barry could see him smirking.

“All right, now give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blow you sky high,” Snart said.

Barry gawped at him, lost for words.

A beat passed. Then two. Barry was sweating, his mouth hanging stupidly open. His heart squeezed convulsively, his raised hands shaking.

Snart burst out laughing.

Barry stared. He’d never seen Snart laugh before, not like this. Oh, he’d seen plenty of sly smirks, the odd bark of amusement, but never a real, full-blown laughing fit. Taken aback, he frowned. Snart was tucking his gun away into his jacket pocket, still grinning.

“Should’ve seen your face,” he chuckled. “You really gotta work on your poker face, sweetheart. Thought you were having an aneurysm.”

“I - I don’t - ” stammered Barry.

“ _Relax_ ,” Snart said. “Just a little joke. Mob humour. You get used to it eventually.” Folding his arms, he leaned against the wall. Tilted his head back so that the trilby cast a more intense shadow over his face. Apparently, Leonard Snart was a dramatic son of a bitch in every version of reality. “So. What’ve you got for me?”

Barry blinked. Oh, God. Was he Snart’s lackey? Some kind of drug runner, or arms dealer, or god knows what else? Fucking Music Meister could have given him some kind of clue! He didn’t even know what Snart’s name was in this universe, and yet apparently they knew each other well enough that it was perfectly socially acceptable for Snart to hold a gun to his head and call it a joke. His head spun.

Irritably, Snart said, “You do realise I didn’t ask you to join Cutter’s gang for the fun of it? Hate to break it to you, Barry, but you’re not actually here to be a singing sensation, you’re here to dig up information. Now. What have you got?”

He was an _informant?_ Barry wasn’t sure whether to be horrified or relieved. On one hand, he wasn’t dealing in illegal substances, but on the other hand he was selling secrets about a guy who’d threatened to slice his face off earlier without a trace of irony. The sickening sensation in his stomach lessened, but only a little.

“I’m waiting,” Snart said.

“I don’t - I - ”

Sighing, Snart pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Barry winced. Oh, God. He’d screwed up, Snart was going to shoot him, he was going to die in this cold dark alleyway with slicked back hair in the middle of a musical and Kara was probably going to have to sing over his dead body in order to get back to the real world, and he was starting to panic and he thought he might puke on Snart’s stupidly shiny shoes, and all because he hadn’t been able to think of any plausible intel to feed the guy about Malcolm _fucking_ Merlyn or whatever his doppelganger was claiming to be called -

“All right,” Snart said. “Not helpful, I know.” Opening his eyes, he gave Barry a sympathetic look. “Bad day?”

“You have no idea,” Barry said.

“Hm,” Snart said, pushing off the wall. Moving closer, he came right up into Barry’s personal space, looking at him appraisingly. He tilted his head. “How about I try and kiss it better?”

“Wha - ?” Barry said, and then Snart leaned in and kissed him.

Not that Barry had ever devoted much thought to what it would be like to kiss Leonard Snart - all right, maybe he had, a little bit. A lot. Whenever he got bored at work, and sometimes in bed at night when he couldn’t sleep, and _okay fine whatever he thought about it a lot -_ but he’d always imagined the man would kiss the way he talked. Rough, cool, a little bit mean. To his surprise, though, Snart was strangely gentle. Cupping Barry’s face in both hands, he kissed him lightly, as if worried he might break him. Too shocked to do anything, Barry stood for a second before he recovered and started kissing him back.

He could have claimed he was following the script, that he was just letting things run their course like he’d been told. It would have been a lie. Truthfully, Snart was just a good kisser. Barry had always wondered what it would be like to make out with him, and now he wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity to try. Besides, he was having a really bad day. He figured he was owed a little bit of making out to turn things around.

When they parted, Barry was flushed and breathless. Dropping his gaze, he waited for something terrible to happen, like Snart punching him or shooting him or threatening him in some way.

Instead, Snart rubbed his thumb lightly against Barry’s cheek. There was something electric about his touch; it made Barry shiver, but there was no fear in it. Confusion and surprise aplenty, but he felt no desire to pull away. The way Snart cradled his face suggested that, in this universe at least, such interactions between them were commonplace.

“I know I shouldn’t have leapt down your throat like that,” Snart said softly. “You know I hate knowing you’re in there with that _bastard_ Cutter. I’d shoot him right now if I could. Fucking asshole..” He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to jump down your throat.”

“That’s okay,” Barry said dazedly. Did Leonard Snart just _apologise?_ Sure, he never actually said the S word, but hearing any kind of remorse coming from Captain Cold’s mouth was astonishing.

Snart pressed his forehead against Barry’s. The contact pushed his hat back a little, the brim of it brushing Barry’s skin. “You know if I could have anyone else take your place, I would,” he said in a low voice. “Any one of my guys could shoot a moving target from thirty paces. Unfortunately, none of them can sing. Cutter only had two vacancies, both for performers. Sometimes you’ve gotta strike while the iron’s hot…”

“I know,” Barry said, touched by Snart’s concern for him. “Don’t worry about it. I...you know I’ll do anything I can to help.”

“Still. I’d rather have you as far from the action as possible.” Straightening his collar, Snart leaned back to admire him. “Still. Here you are. My mole. We’ll make a mobster of you yet.” He brushed a speck of lint off Barry’s jacket. “C’mon. It’s bad form, discussing business in the street. Let’s go home.”

Barry felt like he’d just been struck over the head with something incredibly heavy. “H-home?”

Snart arched an eyebrow at him. From underneath the hat, it had an incredible effect; it looked at least twice as scathing as usual. “You know, that place where we both live…”

The urge to yell ‘we _live_ together?!’ was astonishing. Barry didn’t know how he managed to restrain himself. The kiss had given him a somewhat blatant hint that he and Snart were involved somehow in this version of reality - but _living together?_ He put a hand to his head.

“I’m freezing my ass off,” Snart said, “and whilst you may still have the luxury of anonymity, my face is a little recognisable. It’s risky enough coming to pick you up, without dawdling in the alleyway directly behind Cutter’s club. Let’s move.”

“Hold on,” Barry blurted out.

“What now?”

“I have to tell Kara I’m leaving.”

“Kara? The skirt who sings with you at the club?” Snart looked exasperated. “I keep telling you Barry, you’re an informant. You can’t make friends with the staff; you’re supposed to rat on them.”

“I know,” bluffed Barry, “but I can’t _not_ talk to people, that’d look suspicious. I have to be seen as one of them, remember? Or else nobody’s going to tell me anything.” He gave Snart a pleading look. “Just let me talk to her. Five minutes, just to let her know I’m going home.”

“Fine,” Snart said disapprovingly. “But I’m not waiting around. You have ten seconds.”

“Thank you,” Barry said, relieved. “I’ll be super fast, okay? Ten seconds tops.”

He darted back into the building. Ten seconds sure didn’t stretch far when you no longer had super speed. Being normal got old really fast.

It took him a few minutes to find Kara - stressful, mildly panicky minutes, because he doubted that Leonard Snart was a patient man in any universe and he wouldn’t put it past him to ditch him, and then there was the small issue that Barry _had no idea where they lived_ \- but he found her eventually, talking to Not-Cisco. Bizarrely, Not-Cisco had a ponytail, which also seemed to be synonymous with every single existing multiverse where Barry had ever met an alternate Cisco. Apparently trippy musical dream worlds were no exception to the ponytail rule.

Grabbing Kara’s gloved hand - and arm, god, how far up did gloves _go_ in this time period? He still hadn’t figured out when this was supposed to be, either. Twenties, thirties, forties? It was all kind of ambiguous, all he knew was that Snart was wearing a very sexy hat - Barry said urgently, “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Kara gracefully excused herself from the conversation with Not-Cisco, and together they hurried off into a corner. “Barry, I thought I told you to calm down. This is not calm!”

“This is an emergency,” Barry said. “In this universe, hallucination, whatever the hell this is - I think I’m dating Leonard Snart!”

“I have no idea who that is,” said Kara.

“He’s my nemesis!” Barry said dramatically. Then, “Well, was. Then we were kind of rivals, and then we had this truce thing going on, and I helped him to save his sister’s life and murder his father, and he broke into my house and drank cocoa, and then he went off on an adventure in a time ship and got himself blown up saving the rest of his team, and then he was a ghost in the speed force - and now he’s a gangster and he has this _hat_ on, and we were just making out in an alleyway.”

“This is giving me a headache,” said Kara.

“Okay, basically, he’s evil, but not really, and he’s also dead, but we’re together and I think I live with him. He’s a gangster! And he’s getting me to spy on Cutter and that’s why I’m working here.”

“Great!” Kara said. “This is good, we can use this. The more we know about this whole situation, the better. This is all part of your storyline. Do I work for him as well?”

“No, I don’t think so, he doesn’t approve of our friendship,” Barry said, “but Kara, he kissed me! What do I do?”

“Go along with it,” Kara said. “You heard what Music Meister said. Follow the script, no matter what happens.”

Alarmed, Barry said, “But what if he wants to…” He lowered his voice. “ _Do it?_ ”

“You’re an adult, Barry. Make your own decisions. Do what feels right in the moment. You probably won’t have to ‘do it’ anyway. Musicals aren’t usually R-rated.”

“And what exactly are you going to be doing while I’m playing happy families with Leonard Snart?”

Kara folded her arms. “I...am going to figure some things out. Turns out that Mon-El is Cutter’s son in this world, and I think we’re together, but we have to keep it a secret because no way would Cutter want the heir to his criminal empire to date a cabaret performer.” She managed a smile. “I already figured out the resolution. I’m going to decide that I deserve better than a lying, manipulative toe-rag who’s too scared to ‘fess up to his daddy, and then I’m going to dance off into the sunset and maybe date that gorgeous woman at table nine who looks a whole lot like Lena Luthor.” She coughed, and rubbed the back of her neck. “I mean, if I can figure out how to swing it.”

“That...doesn’t sound like the script,” Barry said. “This whole thing is supposed to teach us a lesson, and I don’t think dumping Mon-El is exactly what Music Meister had in mind.”

“Too bad,” Kara said grimly. “I write my own scripts. I decide where the story goes from here. Just like you and Snart. Only you get to decide how it plays out, Barry.” She looked him in the eyes. “I’m not going to sacrifice my principles just to get out of here. I’m nobody’s puppet. I’ll do what I have to do, but Mon-El doesn’t deserve my forgiveness. I won’t pretend to give it to him just to satisfy some arrogant alien who thinks he can pull on my strings.”

“...Wow,” Barry said. “That was one hell of a speech.”

“Thanks,” said Kara. “I’m thinking I might make a musical number out of it. Cutter still wants us to perform that original song later. I have a few lines already worked out.”

“Well hold that thought,” said Barry, “because this version of Snart is just as trigger-happy as the real one and he might actually shoot me if I don’t hurry up, but I would pay good money to hear that song.” He gave Kara a quick hug. “Wish me luck.”

“Break a leg!”

“Thanks,” Barry said, and rushed off outside to find Snart.

~*~

He half expected the man to already have cleared off, but Snart was waiting for him, smoking a cigarette and holding a big black umbrella over his head. The tip glowed cherry red in the darkness. Fine drizzle came down overhead. As soon as he spotted Barry, Snart blew out one last cloud of smoke - effortlessly cool, if a little melodramatic - then flicked away the stub of his cigarette and ground it underneath the sole of one shiny shoe. He gave Barry a look.

“Ready to go?”

“Absolutely,” said Barry, hoping he looked more certain than he felt.

Snart held out his arm. Stomach filled with butterflies, Barry took it.

 _All you have to do is follow the script,_ he reminded himself.

Snart held the umbrella over their heads, and they started walking.

 

~*~

 

Considering that Snart was the leader of his very own criminal gang, purportedly the most powerful in the city, his house was astonishingly normal. It took considerable effort for Barry not to gawp as Snart let them in. He’d kind of anticipated some dank, moderately evil lair, complete with torture devices hanging from the ceiling and bloodstains on the carpet. Instead, he was faced with typically preppy forties decor, all atrociously awful. Pastel colours, everything muted. It had to be a bitch to keep clean. There was floral print wallpaper in the hallway, a rotary phone resting on a gleaming table. And so much _lace._ Barry could never have anticipated that Leonard Snart would ever consent to share house-room with _one_ doily, let alone a whole bunch of them, but here he was. There were even net curtains, he had noted when they were letting themselves in. It was fussy old lady kind of decor. Barry could only assume that when Music Meister set this scenario up, he had put hypothetical forties-era Barry in charge of the decorating. None of it seemed at all Snart’s style. In his sharp black suit, Snart looked completely at odds with the calm exterior of their home. Still, Barry supposed, that was probably the point. Deep cover, and all. This did not look at all like a gangster’s place of residence.

Helping Barry out of his coat, Snart hung both of their coats up on the rack, then conscientiously stowed his gun in a little drawer in the hallway table. Pulling the tablecloth back into place to hide the drawer, he even shook off the umbrella over the doorstep before putting it into the umbrella stand. Seeing Leonard Snart being so domestic made Barry feel all kinds of weird.

They moved into the kitchen, then, and Snart started rolling up his sleeves. Idly, Barry thought that he should probably start thinking of him as ‘Leonard’. They lived together, after all; they were definitely on first name terms. Of course, there was no guaranteeing that ‘Leonard’ was his name at all, in this universe. It would be nice to know.

“Now,” Leonard said. “Dinner.”

Barry, who had just sat down in one of the wooden chairs at the table, leapt up with some alarm. Of course. In this scenario, he was Snart’s trophy husband, for want of a better term. This was the forties, or thereabouts. He was going to be expected to do the cooking. He seriously hoped Snart wouldn’t expect something fancy. Barry didn’t even know what kind of ingredients they might be keeping in that painfully retro-looking refrigerator - it was _yellow_ , for crying out loud - but he could only pray that it would be something easy to cook. Eggs, maybe. Then he could salvage the resulting mess by singing about it - currently it was a toss-up between _How Do You Like Your Eggs In The Morning?_ or _Food, Glorious Food,_ but he still wasn’t sure how the whole musical thing worked and the last thing he wanted was for Snart - Leonard - to have him sectioned for inappropriately bursting into song.

Leonard frowned at him. “What are you doing?”

“Um...dinner?”

“Oh, no,” said Leonard. “I don’t think so. You’ve been playing the dancing monkey for Cutter all day long, on my request. Don’t think I’m going to take that for granted. Sit back and relax. Dinner’s on me.”

Bewildered, Barry sat back and watched him get to work. Leonard moved around the kitchen with easy grace, without needed to consult a recipe book. Marvelling at his confidence, Barry was quite happy to just observe, and Leonard didn’t break the quiet. Aside from humming to himself every now and then, he just lost himself in his work. For the first time, Barry saw the tension leave him, that perpetual crease between his eyebrows finally easing. It made him feel strangely warm inside.

The silence carried on; neither felt the need to break it. It was a comfortable quiet, the kind shared between people who know each other well enough to be happy just spending time together, without needing to speak. In a way it was strange that Barry shared the sentiment; he shouldn’t feel so comfortable with Leonard Snart, of all people. But the man had dropped his barriers unabashedly. He was _humming._ Barry smiled in spite of himself, watching Leonard sprinkle something over the food.

A knock on the front door disrupted the quiet. Abruptly, Leonard stopped humming; he shrugged on his cold exterior like a jacket. The change in him was palpable, from expression to bearing.

Warming to his role of trophy husband, Barry rose from his seat in preparation to answer the door, but Leonard held a hand up. Barry paused halfway out of his chair.

Turning down the heat on the stove to a steady simmer, Leonard opened the cupboard directly above the stove and grabbed a gun which lay on the bottom shelf, nestled between two boxes of cereal. Perfectly calmly, Leonard turned and offered him the gun, grip first.

Appalled, Barry shook his head and backed away, the chair legs scraping on the tiles. They kept a gun in their kitchen cupboard? His ass hit the worktop, and he pressed himself up against it.

Shaking his head fondly, Leonard checked the gun, flicked the safety off and motioned for Barry to sit. Then he headed off into the hallway.

Weakly, Barry sank back into his seat. He gripped the edge of the table with both hands, feeling the wood dig into his palms. Leonard didn’t seem overly concerned, but he was a mob boss. He could probably shoot someone from across a crowded room without even looking at them twice.

The front door opened. Barry tensed. Low voices spilled in from the hallway, but he couldn’t make out any specific words, just a low rumble. None of it sounded hostile, but that didn’t stop Barry’s heart from thumping. He swallowed. Ridiculously, his stomach rumbled. Unbelievable, that he could be hungry at a time like this - but in his defence, whatever Leonard was cooking smelled incredible.

With a gentle creak, the kitchen door swung open. Barry’s breath hitched as Leonard walked into the room...closely followed by Mick Rory, also wearing a suit.

Barry let out the breath he’d been holding in an audible rush.

“Do try to remember to breathe, Bartholomew,” Leonard said amusedly. “It’s an essential bodily function.” Then he went back to stirring dinner. “Mick here has been gathering some information on my request. Investigating your little blond friend, Kara.”

“What?” Barry said indignantly. “Why? Kara - she’s just some girl who works at the club, she’s not involved in any of this.”

“She works for Cutter,” Leonard pointed out.

“I work for Cutter!”

“On my orders,” Leonard reminded him. “Little Miss Danvers ain’t on my payroll. Besides, it always pays to have more information on one’s associates. Mick here learned a few interesting tidbits - turns out your little friend is shacking up with Cutter’s kid.” He tilted his head. “Care to elaborate, Mick? I’m sure Barry’s dying to know.”

“Yes, boss,” Mick said. He raised his voice. “The skirt’s involved with Cutter Junior alright. Saw ‘em getting cosy round the back of the bar. Didn’t end well. Skirt’s a little spitfire. Tore him to shreds, from what I could tell.”

“Don’t call her that,” Barry said.

“What?”

“‘Skirt’,” Barry said. “It’s rude. Her name’s Kara.”

Ordinarily he’d never have dared to contradict Mick Rory in any situation, but Leonard still had his gun lying within arm’s reach on the kitchen worktop, and as trophy husband Barry reckoned he was allowed a fair bit of leeway when it came to bossing around the gang members.

Still, for a moment the stern look on Mick’s face made him think he’d overstepped - then Mick dipped his head in acquiescence.

“Yes, boss,” he grumbled.

Barry almost fell out of his chair. _Boss?!_ For a moment he thought Mick might be making fun of him, but after scrutinising the man’s expression, he couldn’t find a trace of amusement in it. A little dizzily, Barry tried to disguise his astonishment. Mick Rory was calling him _‘Boss’?_ The whole situation was just too weird.

“We appreciate the heads up,” said Leonard. “Barry, it mightn’t be a bad idea for you to steer clear of Miss Danvers from now on. She’s fraternising with the enemy. On the other hand… if Tommy boy happens to put his foot in it and she fancies a little sweet revenge, feel free to recruit her to the cause. Hell hath no fury, etcetera etcetera.” He paused thoughtfully. “I bet she has some interesting information she could pass along...hm. I’ll think on it.”

“We done?” Mick asked, putting his hat back on. Barry watched interestedly, wondering where he could get one of those for himself. They were cute, in a retro sort of way.

“Yeah, we’re done. Unless you’d care to stay for dinner?” Leonard asked, stirring the stew.

“Not tonight,” Mick said. “Haircut’s at home keepin’ our bed warm. Hate to keep him waiting.”

“Hm, yes, do say hello to Raymond for me, won’t you? Those improvements he made to our firearms were...inspired. Excellent work. If he ever gets tired of working at the factory, feels like moving up a little in the ranks...I could use a man of his talents. It’s always nice to have better weapons.”

“Wait, Raymond?” Barry interrupted. “As in, Ray Palmer?”

They both turned to look at him curiously. Mick’s frown suggested that Barry had just said something painfully obvious.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Barry said, “I mean, obviously. Of course it’s Ray Palmer. The only Raymond we know of, a very good friend of mine, who I know super well and see all the time.” He smiled weakly.

“Ignore him,” Leonard said dismissively. “Working for Cutter has rotted his brain. You can go, Mick. Meet me tomorrow, usual time and place. We’ve got business to attend to.”

Mick inclined his head. “Snart,” he said. Then, after a moment’s pause, he nodded at Barry too. “Allen.”

Then he left, leaving Barry to ruminate and what he’d just learnt, and try not to explode at the concept of being in charge of Mick Rory, actual villain. It occurred to Barry that he could probably tell Mick to shoot someone just because he felt like it, and Mick would probably do it. Not that he intended to give such an order, but it still seemed like an alarming amount of power to just hand over like that.

“You’re acting very oddly,” Leonard said conversationally.

“Don’t I always?”

“...True. But tonight you seem to be making a special effort. What’s the occasion?”

Barry shrugged. “Maybe it’s the stress. You know, having to perform for Cutter, listen to him threaten to cut my face off just for the crime of a bad performance...I can’t even imagine what he’d do if he found out I was spying on him for a rival gang, you know? It’s making me a little tense.”

“I’m sure we can fix that,” said Leonard. Dipping a spoon into the pot, he scooped up some of the broth, then crossed the room, one hand cupped underneath the spoon to keep it from dripping onto the floor. He held it out to Barry. “Try this.”

Barry blew on it before obediently taking the spoon into his mouth. It was a little too hot for a second, but then the flavours kicked in and his eyes widened.

“It tastes amazing!”

“Hm,” said Leonard, critically eyeing the spoon. He tasted it. “You’re right. But it needs more salt.” He turned back to the stove and added another pinch of salt to the pot.

Looking over his shoulder, he said, “I know this isn’t easy for you. Undercover work isn’t really your thing; none of this is. But I promise you, I would never put you in any danger if I didn’t think you were more than capable of handling yourself.

“You’re the only one who was able to get close to Cutter, that’s true. It’s why I sent you in there in the first place. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have plenty of other guys in there on a far lower level, keeping an eye on you. If I thought even for a second that you were in any real danger, my guys could get you out of there in thirty seconds flat. Nothing is going to happen to you, Barry. I promise you. Your safety is paramount. Always has been.”

Surprised by the intensity of his remarks, Barry just sat back and watched him. After a moment, Leonard turned around.

“Everything I do is for you,” he said gently. “I know this isn’t your world, it’s all still new to you. Hell, it’s not exactly how I pictured my life turning out either. I got in deep at a young age, but I could still get out. If I had any other method of guaranteeing your safety, I’d leave all this behind in a heartbeat. Take you someplace safe and start afresh. But guys like us don’t get those kind of chances. Right now, my reputation protects us. Nobody’s going to give us any trouble, knowing who I am and what I do. If we gave all this up and tried to live normal lives, two men living together in a normal domestic street, I couldn’t give you the same guarantee.

“Ever since I met you in that crummy club you were working in, all I’ve ever wanted is to keep you safe. And I will. But to do that I need allies, and I need information, and I need Cutter to crumble and stop causing unnecessary opposition. And that’s where you come in. We’re going to take him down from the inside out, you and I.”

Touched, Barry felt himself soften at Leonard’s words. The man was a criminal and a mob boss, and all because his power was the key to keeping them both from being persecuted. Sometimes, Barry realised, he really should be more appreciative that he was born in a time and place where the worst consequences for being caught with a man might be some mild embarrassment or the odd dirty look being thrown his way.

“Surely there has to be another way,” he said quietly.

“Maybe. If we’d both met a nice woman and settled down, sure, things could’ve been different. But instead…” Leonard shrugged. “I wouldn’t change it. I wouldn’t trade you for the world. If shooting a few people every now and then is the price I have to pay to have you...doesn’t seem like such a bad exchange. Besides, what other job could I do where I get to wear this fancy suit?” He smirked.

Troubled, Barry tried to smile back, but he doubted it was convincing. Suddenly the whole mobster thing wasn’t as fun as it had been a few minutes ago, when he was bossing Mick Rory about.

Seeing his concern, Leonard offered him the spoon again. “Have another taste?”

Barry did. “It’s good,” he said.

“...But?”

Barry hesitated. He hated to be an asshole, but all this talk of prejudice and fear had kind of put him off dinner.

Luckily, Leonard seemed to read his mind. “Lost your appetite, huh?”

Sheepishly, Barry smiled.

“It’s fine,” said Leonard, switching off the stove. “We can eat later. Right now, how about we take a little stress relief?”

“Stress relief?”

Crossing the room, Leonard leaned over the table, resting his arms on the tabletop. He leaned in close, so near that Barry could feel cool breath on his cheek and smell the sharp tang of his cologne.

“Mm,” Leonard said in a low voice. “Stress relief.”

Barry stiffened.

Cautiously, Leonard shifted back a little. Barry tried to calm himself, to make himself loosen back up, but he couldn’t decide whether this was part of the script, whether he should play along, how to respond to Leonard’s advances...if he fucked anything like the way he kissed, sex with him would be incredible. But he wasn’t sure, didn’t know how he was supposed to react or if he was screwing things up with his reticence. Breathing shallowly, he stared at the table, watching the grain blur out of focus before his eyes.

Cool fingers touched his cheek, slipped under his chin, lifting it upwards. Flushing, Barry looked into Leonard’s eyes. There was no judgement in his gaze, only concern.

“It’s all right,” Leonard said softly. “No one knows about us, Barry. We’re safe here, remember? You don’t have to be scared of taking what you want.”

“I - I don’t - ”

“We’ve talked about this,” said Leonard, cupping his cheek. “You don’t have to be afraid, Barry. Not here.” He tilted his head. “You’re not still worried about…” He glanced upwards. “The old man in the sky?”

He was supposed to be _religious_ in this scenario? Well, Barry supposed that made sense. It was the forties here, after all - or something similar. But he’d never had much faith in a god, unless you counted Savitar - hadn’t had much cause to; everything that had happened to him over the past few years, and he’d never even gotten so much as a hint of divine intervention. He wasn’t sure he could adequately feign being a believer. Instead, he shook his head.

“It’s like I keep telling you,” said Leonard, leaning in to kiss him lightly on the mouth. “If we weren’t supposed to do this...why would He make it feel so good?”

Barry had no answer for that, and he didn’t think Leonard expected one. Eagerly, he pressed forwards into the kiss, both to get Leonard to stop asking awkward questions, and because he wanted that mouth on his, kissing all the doubts out of his head.

The angle was awkward with them both leaning over the table; after a minute or so of struggling to work with the position, Barry got to his feet and started to move round to Leonard’s side - but a gentle hand on his chest gave him pause.

“Why don’t we take this upstairs?” Leonard suggested.

Nervously, Barry nodded.

Leonard took his hand and led him slowly upstairs, taking them one step at a time. His grasp was gentle, like at any second he expected Barry to pull away and flee. Barry didn’t plan to. His skin felt painfully sensitive, even the feeling of his clothes brushing against him felt strangely sensual. The places where Leonard’s skin touched his were tingling. At one point Barry stumbled a little in his uncertainty, and Leonard quickly put a hand on the small of his back to steady him. That one small touch made Barry’s whole body ache, desperate for more.

That was when he decided he didn’t care whether or not this was in the script, if he was supposed to be having sex with the man or not. Like Kara said, they could write their own stories from now on - and it wasn’t like he’d ever have had the chance to sleep with Leonard Snart back in the real world.

A little breathlessly, Barry took the last few steps at a jog and pulled Leonard eagerly towards him, initiating a kiss for the first time. He licked into Leonard’s mouth, deep and dirty, trying to convey that he was casting his anxiety aside. Appreciatively, Leonard made a low sound in the back of his throat and steered him down the hallway and into their bedroom.

It was pleasant, all muted colours; dusky pinks and deep purples, but Barry didn’t have time to focus on the decor. Leonard closed the door behind them, and then went to close the curtains. He didn’t switch the lights on. Part of Barry mourned, wanting to see his face, but he could see the value of caution. Besides, it was a little easier now that things were so dimly lit. Until his eyes adjusted, all he could see was a vague silhouette in the darkness.

Leonard took a step towards him, questioning, and Barry shifted closer in response. They shared another kiss, growing in urgency, and then Leonard started to unfasten Barry’s jacket. He moved slowly, taking care with each button before he slipped the jacket off Barry’s shoulders and cast it onto the bed. Then he pulled Barry’s sweater vest over his head and abandoned that too, just as Barry reached for Leonard’s clothes with nervous fingers.

He wasn’t sure how he would be received, but the other man just paused before lowering his arms to give Barry easier access. His hands a little clumsy, Barry fumbled with his tie, picking at the knot. Then he unfastened the buttons of his shirt, slowly exposing Leonard’s chest.

For a moment they paused, the only sound being their ragged breathing. Barry ran his hands lightly up and down Leonard’s sides, exploring his body. Then his finger snagged in a strange dip, and he paused.

For a moment, he brushed lightly against the imperfection, exploring, tracing it with the pad of his thumb. A deep concave in the skin, with ragged but healed-over edges. The tissue there felt rough, like a callus. An old scar, evidently. Leonard didn’t react as he explored, allowing Barry to investigate for himself. After a moment or so, he moved on.

There were a few other marks like that on Leonard’s body, in contrast to his own smooth skin; a ropey scar with a strange twist in it; a few symmetrical round holes where the skin was pitted - he had a nasty suspicion they were cigarette burns - and various other imperfections. They didn’t trouble him. As far as he was concerned, they were just stories - stories which, in this universe, he probably should have known by heart. Still, his curiosity didn’t seem to bother Leonard overmuch. He stood waiting for Barry to take his inventory, and when he was done and lowered his inquisitive hands, Leonard held them and kissed him again, just as gentle as before.

Then he moved on to removing the rest of Barry’s clothes with methodical precision. Tie first, wrapping it around his hand and then neatly placing it on the bed. Then his shirt. It was strange; with any other lover, taking off the clothes went one of two ways; tearing them off impatiently, or removing them slowly, to tease. This didn’t feel like any of those things. In a way it was like a process, like Barry was a skittish horse Leonard was trying to soothe. Leonard took of his own clothes in a similar fashion, slow and careful. They stood facing each other; Barry’s eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness and he could make out the outline of Leonard’s body, the glint of his eyes in the darkness.

His nervousness fell away like another layer of clothing falling to the ground. Something fluttered in his belly, but it was a pleasant feeling. An excitable one. He was starting to get hard now, his arousal building in response to the way Leonard’s eyes were wandering hungrily over his body. Evidently he liked what he saw. Neither of them made any attempt to touch; instead they explored with their eyes. Barry’s gaze lingered over Leonard’s nipples, his stomach, the smooth expanse of his chest...then dropped almost shyly to his cock. Apparently Leonard was far further along in his arousal than Barry was, and the size of him was… a little daunting.

It occurred to Barry then that he didn’t know if they were going to stick to hands and mouths or take things all the way, and that if they did take things all the way, he had no idea what people in this era did in terms of protection or lubricant. Without his powers, Barry was going to be a little less durable anyway, but without proper lube…

He tried to keep his expression blank, but either he failed spectacularly, or Leonard knew him well enough to be able to read him in spite of it. Moving forwards, he touched Barry’s cheek again.

“All right?”

Barry nodded. “Yeah, I’m...I’m fine.”

“Good,” said Leonard, and then he gave a small smirk. He pushed lightly against Barry’s chest. “On the bed.”

Barry sat down on the bed, creasing all of their clothes. Then he shuffled backwards until he was sat with his back up against the headboard.

Leonard moved forwards, cocking his head. Lightning fast, he grabbed Barry’s ankles and yanked, pulling him off balance. Barry yelped in shock as he was pulled downwards, landing flat on his back with his head resting on the pillows and Leonard’s hands on his legs. With a small smirk, Leonard bent Barry’s legs towards his chest. Then he started kissing his left ankle, moving upwards towards the knee. He went slowly, lightly, making Barry shiver. When his mouth was just above the left knee, he switched to the right side, beginning again at the ankle and moving upwards.

Barry was shaking like a leaf by the time Leonard crawled onto the bed and started kissing his mouth again. Kneeling between Barry’s legs, he kissed him until they were both breathless and Barry had forgotten his nerves, had forgotten that the man he was in bed with was in the image of his enemy. All he knew was that he wanted this to continue. Anything Leonard Snart wanted to give him, he would take with both hands.

There was a brief lull in the proceedings whilst Leonard reached into the drawer of their bedside table, and Barry started stroking himself in the meantime, too desperate to be shy any more. After a moment, Leonard produced a condom and a small bottle of olive oil - who knew they had condoms in this musical dreamworld? - and started slicking up his fingers. Messy, Barry thought, but without commercially available lubricant, he’d take what he could get.

“Ready?” Leonard asked.

“Yes,” said Barry. “ _Please._ ”

One of Leonard’s fingers pressed up against Barry’s hole, just lightly. Closing his eyes, Barry breathed out.

“Relax,” Leonard said softly.

“Yes, boss,” said Barry, grinning.

“I told you,” Leonard said, leaning in to kiss him. “It’s ‘boss’ for everyone else. For you, ‘Len’ is fine.”

Then he went back to rubbing up against Barry’s hole, a gentle but insistent pressure. It had been a good while since Barry had taken any fingers other than his own, and while it felt fucking good to have Leonard - _Len_ \- touching him like that, confident but careful, it was a little strange to have someone else’s fingers there after so long.

Barry took another deep breath and tilted his head up, pushing himself up on one elbow to try and get closer to Len’s face. Leaning down, Len kissed him, and as he did so Barry relaxed a little more and Len’s finger slipped inside him with ease, right up to the knuckle.

With a sharp intake of breath, Len broke the kiss and looked down at where his finger was pressed inside. He gave it an experimental curl, making Barry gasp quietly.

Then, Len looked back up at him and said, “Good boy.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Barry said. “Oh my - ” He choked off ‘god’ at the last possible second.

“There we go,” Len said, pleased. “That’s my boy.” He kissed Barry’s forehead. “Good?”

“Great,” Barry managed. “Can you - another?”

Len responded by pressing in another finger. It was a shock at first, the sudden stretch of it - not painful, but he definitely knew about it. Perhaps he tensed, or made a sound, because Len slowed down, scissoring his fingers but with more care, taking things slowly again. Teasing, though he probably didn’t mean it that way. With a choked-off moan, Barry let his head fall back against the pillow. He moved his fist to cover his mouth and bit down on the back of his hand to keep from crying out. He didn’t know whether their neighbours were clued into their situation, whether making noise would be dangerous. That would be one hell of a plot-twist, if the musical ended with the two of them being torn apart by cops midway through sex and then thrown in prison - separately - and forced to do a rendition of ‘Jailhouse Rock’, or something.

Then Len’s fingers grazed his prostate and Barry really was fighting not to make any sound. He stuttered, let out a low whine, and then Leonard surged forwards to kiss him and the noises were lost into his mouth. Gasping, Barry pulled away, bit down on Len’s neck instead and struggled to keep quiet. Not that he’d ever been good at that; most of Barry’s previous partners had complained about his complete failure to shut the hell up during sex.

“Fuck,” Len whispered. “Wish I could hear you. Wish it didn’t matter _who_ heard us.” He curled his fingers again, and white-hot pleasure burst through Barry’s body, making his toes curl. “One day I’ll take you somewhere far away. In the mountains, or some cabin in the forest. Somewhere isolated enough that you can make as much noise as you want, how’s that sound?”

“Please,” Barry whined, fighting to keep his voice low. “Fuck me, please - ”

“Shh,” Len warned him. “Unless you want me to cover your mouth like last time. Be good for me.”

Wrongly or rightly, the idea of Len covering his mouth to force him to be quiet made tremors shoot through Barry’s body. He closed his eyes, bit down hard on his lip to try and make himself shut up so Len would fuck him, to prove that he could behave -

A third finger pushed inside him; there was a little resistance at first and then Barry choked as it pushed past that tight ring of muscle and inside him, stretching him out. So good, burning a little bit but in the best kind of way. Like a test, a challenge, Len opening him up to get him ready for his cock, and Barry could only imagine how _that_ would feel, how hot and full he’d be. Normally by this point he’d have been keening, gasping obscenities like a trooper. Instead he clenched his fists in the bedsheets and arched his back and gritted his teeth to keep the noises back.

“Ready?” Len asked. “Or do you need a little more?”

“I’m ready, I’m ready for you, please fuck me - ”

“Shut that foul mouth before I shut it for you,” Len said, but there was no real heat behind it. “Swear you never used to be such a guttermouth. Clearly my guys have been a bad influence on you.” He trailed his mouth down Barry’s jugular, just the whisper of a kiss against his overheated skin. His lips were cool, and Barry twitched in response. “We’re going to have to fix that. Can’t have my boy talking like a street hooker. Ain’t good for business. I’ll have to teach you to behave.”

“ _Please,_ ” Barry whimpered.

With a rumble of approval, Len slipped his fingers out. Before Barry could protest, he was rolling on the condom, pushing Barry’s knees right up against his chest and pressing into him, a steady slide that stretched him wide open, until Len was pressed flush against him, bottoming out with a low grunt.

That sound alone was almost enough to make Barry come undone; he grabbed Len’s shoulders, raked his nails down his back in an urge to express himself, to give some kind of voice to the desperation building inside him. Len was leaning forwards, trapping Barry’s cock between their stomachs. He could feel precome wet against his stomach, leaking already, and the brush of Len’s cool skin against the head made his cock twitch. Aching with need, Barry let out a shaky breath.

“You’re alright,” Len told him, rubbing his thumb against Barry’s cheek.

Barry turned his head and sucked the pad of Len’s thumb into his mouth, twirling his tongue around it, sucking almost frantically. It got the reaction he wanted; Len drew in a sharp breath, his pupils dilating. Barry dragged his teeth lightly against Len’s thumb, then let it slip free of his mouth with a pop. Then he gave Len the most loaded, sultry look he was capable of. A challenge.

Gaze darkening, Len leaned over him, pressing Barry hard into the mattress. Then he started thrusting, all thoughts of gentleness gone out of the window. He fucked Barry almost like he was punishing him, setting a fierce pace that didn’t relent for a second. Barry closed his eyes and gasped and dug his nails into Len’s back so hard that his hands went numb, and he rode it out, trying to meet Len thrust for thrust.

It was so hot, heady, and knowing what was at stake if he couldn’t keep quiet only made Barry harder. Something about the danger of it brought his arousal to a crescendo. It kept building, peaking higher and higher, until his whole body shook and sparked with the feeling. Every thrust brought a rush of pleasure more intense than the one before it; he ached to touch himself but when he tried to get a hand between them, Len growled and pinned his wrist down.

That made Barry’s cock give another desperate throb, and he started rolling his hips disjointedly, ignoring the rhythm they’d been building. He was just blindly chasing the friction, trying so hard to get what he needed.

Len stopped dead and leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Don’t make me pin you to this bed, Barry. Don’t test me.”

“Please, I need to - I’m close - ”

“I decide when you’re close,” Len warned him. “Just like I decide when you can come. All of that is up to me.”

“Len, Lenny, please - ”

“Shh,” Len whispered, and he covered Barry’s mouth with one hand.

That was more than Barry could handle; only his mouth was covered, but suddenly he was fighting for breath, struggling to pull enough air in through his nose. His lungs felt tight. With a low groan, he went boneless against the pillows, only his hips still moving in disjointed thrusts, against his will.

Luckily Len was just as desperate for release as Barry was. He started thrusting properly, picking up the pace. The headboard banged rhymthically against the wall, and Barry closed his eyes and watched fireworks explode behind his eyelids. All he could hear was a strange rushing sound, his own ragged breathing and, very far away, the low sound of Leonard’s cursing. He gave a low groan, and just as he did so, Len slammed forwards and then came, swearing in a monotone, a litany of curse-words right into Barry’s ear. It was unexpected, dirty, and appallingly hypocritical, and Barry held him close as he rode it out, clenching around him to make it better, to wring every bit of his orgasm out of him.

For a moment Len was a dead weight on top of him, panting against Barry’s neck. Then he pulled out with a groan.

The loss made Barry whimper quietly, his hole fluttering in protest as Len removed the condom and tied it off. Then he was moving forwards again; the bed creaked, and then Len’s hand was on Barry’s neglected cock, working him towards his release. His fingers were cool, his grip just the right side of too-tight, and Barry was arching helplessly into Len’s touch when the older man lowered his head and took Barry into his mouth, right down to the base so that the tip of him nudged the back of Len’s throat.

Barry came with a muted cry, gripping the bedsheets so hard that he half expected them to rip. He thought Len would pull off, but he swallowed every drop, kept sucking until Barry had nothing left to give him. Then he licked him clean, tasting him from root to tip before he finally released him, crawled up the bed and collapsed at Barry’s side.

For a while they lay together in satisfied silence, waiting for their breathing to even out. Barry’s heart hammered. It felt a little strange to be so sated after one orgasm; with his speed, it usually took two or three - but he didn’t have his speed here. He was just an ordinary guy, and one incredible orgasm courtesy of Leonard Snart had totally wiped him out.

God. Leonard Snart had just fucked his brains out and then sucked him off afterwards. Giddily, Barry laughed.

“Something funny?” Len asked.

“No,” Barry said, grinning like a fool. “Just happy.” And bewildered. Maybe Music Meister had done him a favour after all; he’d just got to live out one of his greatest fantasies. He’d had sex with Leonard Snart. There had to be a catch; surely he didn’t get something that great for free… but for now he was more than happy to just bask in the afterglow, to appreciate the kind of all-consuming release he hadn’t felt in god knows how long. These days Barry was a little too busy facing off against Savitar to focus on his sex life. Anything more than a rushed, perfunctory release was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

“That’s what I like to see.”

Catching Barry’s face, Len pulled him closer and they kissed, slow and lazy. When they broke apart, it was with their foreheads pressed together. Barry closed his eyes and smiled to himself.

“Just like I told you,” Len said quietly. “Something that feels that good can’t be a bad thing.”

“Guess not...but you could make that same argument for murder. If you were mad enough, anyway.”

Len shrugged. “Gotta admit, in the right circumstances murder feels just as good…” He grinned. “But if I have to get jailed for one of the two...I know which one I’d prefer.”

“Mm,” agreed Barry. “Me too.”

They settled onto their backs, side by side. On an impulse, Barry reached down and twined his fingers with Leonard’s. He half expected a rejection, but was pleasantly surprised when Len squeezed his hand and didn’t let go. Things sure were different in this universe, wherever the hell it might be.

“Thank you,” he said.

Len stirred slightly. “What for?”

“For taking care of me.” Or the other Barry, the one who really belonged in this bed. There were so many questions he wanted answered. Did this place exist before? Had there been another Barry, a real mob husband to Leonard Snart who had been there before Barry arrived? And if so, had he just vanished when Barry arrived? Or had this all just popped up fully-formed, dredged out of their minds like Music Meister said, like a half-forgotten jumble of dreams and subconscious? That would explain a lot. After all, Barry’s conscious brain was very aware that he’d always been attracted to Snart; it stood to reason that his unconscious brain would take the opportunity to make it happen.

So many questions he doubted he’d ever see the answer to. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to be concerned. Right now, he was sleepy, sated, and curled up with a warm body beside him. Barry stifled a yawn. If this was what came of following the script, he had no complaints so far.

“I know this isn’t ideal,” Len said. “But I’ll protect you to my dying breath, Barry Allen. No matter what I have to do.” He kissed the top of Barry’s head. “Now get some sleep. Can’t have you snoozing onstage tomorrow. Gotta earn your keep, and Cutter’s gang isn’t going to destroy itself.”

“Yes, boss,” Barry said sleepily, letting himself start to drift.

“I keep telling you. Call me Leonard.”

  
~*~

 

“Okay, so run all of that by me again, but in a way that makes sense,” said Kara.

They were sat in the rehearsal room at the club, where they were supposed to be working on a new song and accompanying dance routine for Cutter. Of course, in reality they were doing nothing of the sort. Every now and then someone would poke their head around the door and glare at them to make sure they were working, until Kara shooed them out, shouting, “I can’t work under these conditions, I am an _artist_!” No one, apparently, wanted to argue with that.

So on the pretence of creating a musical masterpiece, they were actually comparing notes about what they’d learned of their role in this facade, and also trying to avoid any more musical numbers. Barry loved musicals in ordinary circumstances, but when people suddenly burst into song at random times, it could get a little disconcerting. Over breakfast, for example, Len had taken it upon himself to reassure Barry of his vigilance in terms of keeping him safe during his espionage, and had started singing something that sounded suspiciously like “ _Not While I’m Around_ ,” from Sweeney Todd. Sweet as it had been, seeing Leonard Snart wander doe-eyed around the kitchen earnestly singing “ _nothing’s gonna harm you, not while I’m around!_ ” was something that would stick with him forever, and not necessarily in a good way.

And Music Meister really should have come up with some original songs, because there were some serious copyright issues going on in this place.

“Okay,” Barry said. “So a lot of this is speculation, I’ve kind of had to piece it together from things Leonard has said to me, or the way he acts around me, and I don’t know how much of it is actually right because obviously I can’t start asking him how we met or anything like that - ”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, just - speculate away,” Kara said.

“Right. Okay, so Leonard is a criminal. Just like he is on my earth - was, rather, before he…”

Barry rubbed the back of his neck. He’d not spared a lot of thought for Snart lately, what with everything going on, but the thought of him being _dead_ was...strange. Until he’d come across the guy in this weird parallel universe, he’d never really expected to miss him. But apparently Snart was showing up a lot in his subconscious lately, what with the speed force, and now this. Maybe his brain was trying to tell him something.

Taking a deep breath, Barry said, “This Leonard is a criminal. He’s a mob boss, like Cutter, but he seems to be in charge of a rival gang - if anything I think Len’s gang is actually higher up in the pecking order. Like the Santinis versus the Darbynians, back on my earth.  
  
“In this universe, Len and I met at a club. One far more seedy than this one. I was a broke singer down on my luck; left home to make my fortune and didn’t do so hot. He found me in this dodgy bar, singing for scraps, living from paycheck to paycheck. Best as I can tell, he...took a liking to me. We got close. He came to see me, we got to know each other...one thing led to another… however it is that happens in the forties.” Barry coughed, going a little pink. “Anyway, he took me out of there, put me under his protection and set me up in a safe place. We were together, and happy, and in love... Len didn’t ask for anything in return until recently. He needed someone on the inside, so he set me up as an informant.” Lowering his voice, he said, “I’m here to gather intel, to help him take Cutter down from the inside. Then Len takes over, becomes the city’s bonafide boss, no competition.”

“Romantic,” Kara said. “So what, your role is to just...snitch on Cutter? Stab him in the back so your boyfriend can take over? That sounds like it could take a while.”

Barry shook his head. “I don’t think that’s it. I think it’s more like...art reflecting life, in this instance.” He leaned eagerly over the piano. “Back on my earth, I always knew there was more to Leonard Snart than the cold criminal he pretended to be. I always knew there was good in him, and I kind of made it my goal to bring that out. To bring him into the light… I wasn’t completely successful; Snart stabbed me in the back a lot. Old habits die hard, I guess, and his criminal code only stretched so far. Best I ever got out of him was a no-kill deal. I left him to his own devices, and he agreed not to fatally injure anybody. But then he got picked up by this…crew, on a different kind of mission. Time travel,” he added conspiratorially. “He went off with the Legends...well, you met them. They’re not the most organised team I’ve ever met, but they must have had a good influence on him. Snart sacrificed himself, saved all their lives. He was kind of a good guy in the end.  
  
“I think that’s what I’m doing here, Kara. This Len, he never wanted to be a criminal. This isn’t the life he’d have chosen for himself, if he had any other way. The only reason he hasn’t turned his back on it is because he has a lot of enemies...and because of me. Two men living together in the forties, that’s kind of suspicious. If anyone figured out we were together, we’d be hunted down and arrested, and god knows what else. Len’s doing this to protect me. He thinks being a criminal is the only way to keep me safe.”

“I don’t actually know what’s more messed up; your life, or this musical,” said Kara, leaning exhaustedly against the piano.

Barry shrugged sheepishly. “I’d say it’s a pretty even tie. Go on, what’s your story? What’s happening with you and Mon-El?”

“More like Mon- _Hell_ ,” Kara muttered. “Ugh. He’s a sleazy creep. He thinks he can sneak around with me behind his father’s back, but whenever I tell him to pull himself together and come clean, he starts acting like a sulky child.”

“So that’s your script,” Barry said. “You have to make him come clean. Love conquers all, and everything.”

Kara made a face. “Getting Mon-El to tell the truth is like getting blood out of a stone. He wouldn’t know honesty if it punched him in the face - and if I still had my powers, I just might.” She sat down on the piano stool with a thump.

“He can’t be that bad,” Barry said, coming to sit beside her. It took a significant amount of squeezing before Kara grumpily moved up. “I mean, you were dating him? Right?”

“We were never dating. There was...some making out involved. We spent a lot of time together. And the entire time he was lying to my face.” Kara folded her arms. “Mon-El and I were never exactly a match made in heaven in the first place. His people and my people have been at war on and off for centuries. This Tommy guy doesn’t seem to be much of an improvement.”

“The first time Len and I met, he was busting open an armored truck with a tank full of liquid nitrogen. After that, I caught him trying to rob the Central City museum and he shot a guy just to get me to demonstrate the full extent of my powers. We had...a turbulent relationship, but it seems to be working for us so far.”

“Barry,” said Kara. “You do realise none of this is real, right? It’s all just a distraction. Music Meister trapped us in here. We’re here to play our way through and get out, not get caught up in the romance of it all. That man you spent the night with isn’t really Leonard Snart, no matter how badly you’d like him to be. What happened to rescuing Iris? That has to be our focus, getting out of this place and back into the real world. We just have to play our roles. None of this is real.”

“I know,” insisted Barry.

It felt real, though. The satisfying residual ache from where Len had made love to him the night before - because that hadn’t just been sex; it had been gentle, tender, nothing he’d ever expected Leonard Snart to be. In a way it almost made Barry feel guilty to have slept with him, knowing that he didn’t feel even one tenth of the emotion the man felt for this version of him.

Kara put a hand on his shoulder. “I just don’t want you to get too caught up in this. At some point we’re going to wake up, or get transported back. Things are going to go back to normal, and this Leonard Snart you think you’ve been living with is just going to vanish. You won’t ever see him again, Barry. There’s no use in getting attached.”

“I’m not getting attached! I’m just...enjoying the perks.”

“Hm,” Kara said disapprovingly.

“I’m sorry, what was I supposed to do, just _reject_ him? I’m not a saint, Kara.”

“Nobody’s saying you have to reject him. In fact, it’s probably good that you didn’t - we do have a script to follow. But...just try not to forget what’s real and what isn’t. Iris is at home waiting for you. She still needs saving.”

“I will save Iris,” Barry vowed. “I’m not going to just turn my back on the real world, on my family and everything that matters to me, just so I can stay here with Snart. I know what I’m doing, Kara, trust me. I know what really matters. But for now I’m going to handle this my way.”

“Okay,” Kara said. “As long as you know what you’re doing…” She got up off the piano stool and ran her fingers absentmindedly across the keys. “In the meantime, we have a song to write. Got any ideas? Because I’m coming up totally blank.”

Barry thought about this for a moment. He was a scientific person, not a creative one. But when everyone around you seemed compelled to burst into song - and an accompanying dance number - without so much as breaking a sweat...well, the whole thing got contagious after a while. And he did have a tune stuck in his head; something Leonard had been humming that morning, before he’d started singing Sweeney Todd.

“Yeah,” Barry said, smiling to himself. “I think I might have a little something in mind.”

  
~*~

  
Cutter _loved_ the song.

It was no musical masterpiece, Barry knew. The rhymes were a little clumsy, their dancing wasn’t quite in time - especially Barry’s, since he still had an interesting residual ache from what he and Len had done the night before, and _that_ was a novelty, since he’d normally have healed from that at this point.

But the song was fun, it was energetic, and both he and Kara had a whale of a time performing it. By the time it was over, he was exhausted but grinning - and when he came off stage, a man in a suit came to present him with a large bouquet of red roses.

“What’s this?” Barry said, startled, as the flowers were pressed into his arms.

The guy shrugged. “I just get paid to deliver, buddy. Guess you’ve got an admirer. I think there’s a card, I don’t know. Good show, though.” He clapped Barry on the arm and vanished.

Surprised, Barry rummaged through the flowers until he retrieved the card.

_For the Scarlet Starlet, with love from your biggest fanatic. L x_

“Scarlet Starlet?” Kara said, peering over his shoulder with a grin. “Jesus. This guy has it bad.”

“Kara!” Mortified, Barry hid the card behind his back. “That’s private.”

“Oh, Barry, don’t be silly. It’s cute. If a little nauseating.” Kara buried her face in the flowers. “No fan-mail for me? I’m heartbroken. Why does he call you Scarlet?”

“Back on my earth, I’d guess it’s because of the suit. Here…” Barry shrugged. “I guess some things I’m better off not knowing. That was a great show out there, Superfriend.”

She gave him a playful nudge. “You’re a dork. Listen, I’d better go find Mon-El...I mean, _Tommy._ ” She made a face. “Now that I’ve won his daddy’s approval I might stand a better chance of getting him to confess. You coming with?”

“What, to listen in on your mushy conversation? No thanks. I’ll see you in the dressing room; I’d better find some water for these.” He held his flowers up with a rustle.

“Sure,” said Kara. “I’ll be as fast as I can, okay? I can’t wait to get out of here.”

Smiling, Barry watched her go. He was delayed on the way back to his dressing room, waylaid by a number of fellow employees who wanted to wish him well - including Not-Cisco, who was evidently seething with jealousy that he did his utmost to cover up. Barry felt bad for him, really.

The ‘dressing room’ was essentially a large cupboard that he and Kara shared, decorated with flickering, poorly-wired lighting and a wonky mirror. Barry had to give up on his dreams of finding a nice vase for his flowers and be contented with a large jar full of make-up brushes, which he emptied into a drawer. God, forties make-up was cakey. He dabbed a bit of it experimentally on the back of his hand and made a face. Not that he was an expert, but he was pretty sure cosmetics in 2017 were of a far higher calibre.

For a while he was happy to just sit and ruminate over their performance, wondering if it could be tweaked at all, if they’d have to do another performance or whether they’d wake up before then...but eventually he figured he should really go and find Kara, see how things were getting on with Tommy...or Mon-El. Whoever he was. It sounded like she could use all the help she could get in this situation. Besides which, he still needed to figure out how on earth he was going to convince Leonard to become one of the good guys. He and Kara needed to work on a plan of attack.

He found Not-Cisco on the stage, clearing up after the performance. Scowling, Not-Cisco was scrubbing doggedly at the scuff-marks their impromptu tap-dancing had left on the floor. Barry guilty rubbed the back of his neck, contemplated exiting stage left before he was spotted, and then decided to just bite the bullet.

“Hey, uh...have you seen Kara anywhere?”

“Why, you two wanna make another godawful mess of my floor?” Not-Cisco said sulkily. After a moment, he relented. “I dunno, she went out in the alleyway with the boss’ kid, Tommy. They were having an argument. Sounded pretty heated. She’d better watch herself; she might be the star right now, but Cutter won’t hesitate to axe her if she starts getting mouthy. One word from Tommy and boom! She’s out on her ass.”

“I’ll be sure to let her know,” Barry promised. Then, before Not-Cisco could gripe at him any further, or break into a rousing musical number about the perils of inhaling too much floor-polish, he hurried off.

He took the same back exit he’d taken the previous night, when he’d been held at gunpoint by Leonard. When he got there though, the alleyway was empty, aside from a few trash cans and a whole lot of puddles. Frowning, Barry ran a hand through his hair, still stiff with whatever product he’d found waiting for him on the dresser that morning. The waxy texture made him shiver.

It was cold outside, his breath coming in faint white puffs. Barry was just about to step back inside and have another scout around when a clatter from down the alleyway made him jerk, turning instinctively towards the source of the sound.

For a moment he stood frowning, trying to figure out what could have caused the disturbance. Stray cat, maybe? Or another of Leonard’s bizarre jokes?

Then a scream rent the quiet.

Barry sprinted right for the source of the commotion, cursing his lack of speed. Barrelling around the corner, he was just in time to see Kara struggling with Mon-El, who had her by the arm and was tugging her towards the open back door of a car. Kara was fighting him every step of the way, her hair flying as she pummelled his arm, tried to stomp on his foot, scratched and clawed and screeched - but without her powers she didn’t have a hope in hell of throwing him off. Mon-El manhandled her like she was a child having a tantrum.

“Kara!”

Her head snapped up. “Barry!”

The distraction was enough for Mon-El to get a better grip and shove her, kicking and yelling, into the arms of a waiting henchman. He clamped her to his chest in an iron grip, resolutely ignoring her struggles, and then Mon-El was slamming the door closed, the tinted windows hiding her from view.

Barry knew this wasn’t the same guy who’d come to S.T.A.R Labs for help with Kara’s prone body in his arms, or the same guy she’d been hauling over the coals, but god damn. Right now he was tempted to agree with Kara’s prognosis: this guy was an _asshole._

“Let her go!” he ordered, advancing on the car. Without his speed he had no plan, and probably even less chance of beating this guy in a fight than Kara had, but no way in hell was he about to let her get abducted without a fight.

He stormed grimly towards Mon-El, fists clenched - but then the man flicked his fingers carelessly, and something slammed into the back of Barry’s head.

He hit the floor hard. Someone stepped over him; a bodyguard had been standing right behind him and he’d never even realised he was there. There was a throbbing pain in the back of his head where the guy had punched him. Groaning, Barry tasted blood in his mouth. He spat pathetically onto the pavement, feeling it dribble down his chin. He managed to push himself up a little, and then the henchman’s boot collided with his side, biting into his ribs. It seared, made Barry howl and curl in on himself in response to the pain. Desperately folding into a little ball, he tucked his head in and shivered, waiting for the onslaught to continue… but then there was the sound of footsteps, the slam of a car door, and he looked up just in time to see the car squealing around the colour, brake lights blazing and the smell of burning rubber acrid on the breeze.

Choking, Barry tried to get up but was knocked back by the pain in his side. If this wasn’t real, it was doing a hell of a good job of faking it. He managed to claw himself onto his knees, grab onto the wall and try to haul himself up...but then he sagged uselessly back to the ground. Kara was gone; he had no idea where, and no chance of catching her. If this was the script Music Meister had intended, he had no idea how things were supposed to pan out from here.

He stayed huddled over like a wounded animal for a long time. Even when it started to rain, he couldn’t bring himself to move. Just let the water run down the back of his neck, slowly soaking him. He couldn’t save Iris in his world, couldn’t save Kara in this one. Never fast enough in any universe. What was the point of him, really?

“Barry?”

Barry looked up too fast and regretted it; pain spiked through his sore head. Hissing, he tried to stand again, but his limbs were like cardboard and the rain had made them soggy and useless. Panting, he stayed on his knees.

“ _Barry._ ”

Len dropped to his knees in front of him, still in his fancy suit, his hat tipped back to keep the rain off his face. Immediately he grabbed Barry’s face, carded his fingers through his hair, rested a hand on the back of his neck. His voice was all sharp edges, his face dark with fear.

“What the hell happened? Who did this? Give me a name, Barry, I swear to god. How badly did he hurt you?”

Those questions seemed oddly out of order, and Barry was too dizzy to try to make sense of them. “M’okay,” he managed, then turned his face away to spit another globule of blood onto the sidewalk. Len’s expression darkened.

“Who the hell was it? Was it Cutter, did he catch you? I swear to god, I’m going to shoot every single one of those assholes who were supposed to be keeping an eye on you, and then I’m going to punch Cutter’s teeth so far down his _fucking_ throat that he has to shove a toothbrush up his asshole to clean them.” Len shook him gently, but even that made Barry groan quietly in pain. “You’re fine, I’ve got you. Everything’s gonna be okay. I’ll take care of you. Come on, get up, Scarlet.”

He wrapped one of Barry’s arms around his shoulders and helped him to his feet. Heavily, Barry leaned on him and tried to get his breath back. His ribs still ached, but standing helped. At least it made him feel less like he’d just been defeated.

Len pressed his cheek against Barry’s. “Alright. Now give me a name.”

“Kara,” Barry managed.

Frowning, Len said, “You got your ass kicked by a skirt?”

Barry shook his head. “Not her. Mon - Tommy. He took her. Bundled her up in a car and took her away.”

Len snorted. “More fool her. Clearly didn’t have a lick of sense in that pretty blonde head.”

“No,” Barry said urgently. “She didn’t want it. She fought him, he abducted her. I tried to stop him… he set one of his henchmen on me. Punched me in the head… I tried to…” He gripped the front of Len’s suit. “We have to go after them.”

“After Cutter’s son? You must be joking. I’ll have my revenge on the asshole who hurt you, rest assured, but I’m not going on some wild goose chase to save some woman I don’t even know.”

“Please, Len. Kara’s my friend. He could be doing anything to her - she didn’t want to go with him. He could rape her, or - or kill her, or - ”

“Not our problem,” Len said. “Our problem is making sure we don’t get involved...and getting you patched up.”

“You have to do something. Please. She’s my friend, we can’t just let him take her!”

“What do you want me to do?” Len demanded. “Go after them? Fight Cutter’s son and heir just for the sake of some skirt? That’s not how I roll, Scarlet. We’ve got no plan, no back-up, no chance. And I don’t do rescues.”

“You rescued me,” Barry said. “From that club, remember? Where would I be now, if you hadn’t saved me?”

“...That was a special case,” Len said, but he sounded a little less sure of himself.

“ _Please_. I’ll do anything. I’ll get on my knees right here. I’m begging you, Lenny. You have to save her, no matter what it takes.”

Len took a step back, one hand on Barry’s shoulder to steady him. With his hat casting a shadow over his face, it was difficult to read his expression. Barry could only look pleadingly into his eyes. He could feel blood coming from the corner of his mouth in a sticky trickle; he didn’t wipe it away. Let it speak for him.

“You realise what you’re asking for?” Len asked in a low voice. “This isn’t just a scuffle for turf, Scarlet. It’s not a little bar-fight, or a robbery. I’d do any of those for you in a heartbeat. Going after Cutter’s kid...there’s no turning back from that. We could end up with a full-blown gang war on our hands. None of us are prepared for that.”

“We have to,” Barry said. “We can’t leave Kara with him. If you won’t help me, I’ll have to face him on my own.”

Len closed his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them, his jaw was set. “You’re not going up against those bastards alone. I’ll fight for your friend. But I hope you realise what you’re getting us into. There’ll be blood running through these streets before we’re done.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Barry said.

Music Meister’s words echoed in his head: _If you die in this world, you die for real._ And even if Tommy didn’t kill Kara, there were other things he might do. Even if they made it out of here, if Kara woke up and remembered being raped in this other universe, and Barry hadn’t gotten to her in time… he clenched his fists.

“We don’t have a choice,” he said. “Kara’s my friend. We have to help her.”

“Then we’ll help her,” Len said. “If that’s really what you want. I’ll send someone to find Mick, see if Raymond has any of those special-grade weapons ready for us. But if we don’t make it out of this alive…”

“We will,” Barry said firmly. “We have to.”

Leonard smiled a strange, twisted smile and rubbed the pad of his thumb against Barry’s cheek. Then he pulled his gun out of his pocket, checked it was loaded, checked and double-checked the safety, and offered it to Barry.

Barry swallowed. Dream sequence or no, alternate universe or no, he’d never fired a gun. Never even held one. But with Kara’s life at stake…

The grip was warm against his skin, had stolen some of the heat of Leonard’s hand. Lifting his chin, Barry took the gun from him. Then, Len surprised him by removing his cool mobster hat and setting it on Barry’s head. He adjusted it slightly, pressed it down more firmly on Barry’s head, and then leaned down to kiss him. This struck Barry as dangerous, with the gun pressed between their chests; his heart pounded, but he didn’t pull away before Len did. The kiss had an edge to it, he noticed. He didn’t think it was just because they were doing it in public, behind Cutter’s club. Something had changed. Barry didn’t dare think too hard about it. He just slipped the gun into the breast pocket of his jacket, adjusting the fabric so the shape of the weapon wouldn’t be too obvious.

“Good,” Len said approvingly. He lightly touched the brim of his hat. “My little mobster in the making. Looks good on you.” Then he smiled another one of those odd smiles. “Well then,” he said, with that sarcastic drawl back in his voice. “Let’s go save the girl.”

~*~

As Len gathered his associates and resources, the atmosphere was tense. Barry kept his arms wrapped around himself and did his best to keep out of the way. In this situation, he was out of his depth.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t appreciated the seriousness of the situation when Len first described it to him, but seeing the reactions of his associates made it all seem far more real. They were all the kind of men who seemed comfortable with violence, all carrying guns, most with a perceptible air of menace around them...but when Len had gathered them all around him and made his announcement - they were going after Cutter’s kid, _tonight_ \- they all suddenly got grim about the mouth. There was an air of finality about the proceedings; people moved swiftly about, frequently consulting Len for his opinion on firearms or potential contingency plans. He delivered his verdicts smoothly, without hesitation, seeming so cool and capable that Barry was almost reassured...until he saw how tense the men were. The creases between their brows, the set of their jaws. There wasn’t a smile or a joke between the lot of them. Barry was no expert on gang etiquette, but he gathered that things weren’t usually quite this morbid. It was like being in a room full of people on death row, or a hospital ward for people with a terminal illness. Dozens of people hurrying about, all keeping busy in an attempt to forget that they were waiting to die.

Knowing that they were about to do so because of him, because he’d begged Len into giving the order, made Barry’s stomach churn.  
  
He did get to witness a surprisingly gentle farewell between Ray Palmer and Mick Rory, by far the oddest couple he'd encountered in any universe. As Len's second in command, Mick couldn't stray far from his side; he was needed to deal with nonessential questions or disputes, and give minor orders that weren't worth Len's time. When Ray arrived, however, he and Mick withdrew a short distance away and were mostly left alone. Barry couldn't help watching them interact, fascinated by their dynamic. Not wanting to eavesdrop, he merely watched from a distance.

Ray was plying Mick with dozens of strange-looking weapons, all his own design and presumably, for this era, state of the art. Where Mick was supposed to put them all Barry didn't know, but he accepted each and every one without comment, sliding them into various pouches or pockets in his jacket.  
  
Eventually, though, Ray's supply of modified firearms ran out, and he and Mick stood quietly together without speaking until Len shouted, "Alright, let's move out!"  
  
Raising his voice a little, Mick said, "I'll see you around, Haircut." He turned to leave.  
  
"Wait!"

Ray darted forwards, tugging a red bandana out of his breast pocket. A flash of crimson in the dark, the colour of fresh blood against the pale skin of his hand. Carefully, Ray tied the bandana around Mick’s neck and tucked the ends into the collar of his shirt.

“For luck,” he said.

Barry pressed his lips together, half expecting Mick to blow him off or say something crude - but Mick astonished him by actually giving Ray a genuine - albeit small - smile.

“You’d better come back,” Ray said.

“That an order, Haircut?” Mick asked, visibly amused.

“You bet,” Ray replied. He managed a shaky smile.

Then, Mick astonished Barry by doing something that he was sure the real Mick Rory would never have done. Yanking Ray almost roughly to his side, he kissed the top of his head and gave him a hug. It was actually more of a squeeze, and Ray made a quiet hiccuping sound as all the breath whooshed out of him - but Ray smiled genuinely then, grinning sheepishly at his feet.

Mick patted Ray on the ass - now _that_ was something the real Mick Rory would’ve done, Barry thought - and then left without another word, moving to his position at Len’s side. With his head held high, Mick’s entire expression changed, wiped blank the second he’d released Ray. Now he was in full muscle mode, all emotion gone. A gun-toting robot at Len’s command. Unease rippled down Barry’s spine.

Mick didn’t turn back, but Ray watched him forlornly as he made his way to where Leonard stood. There was something distinctly puppyish in his expression - but behind the mopey look, there was genuine anxiety. Ray swallowed, licked his lips, and then squared his shoulders and walked away, vanishing into the darkness.

For all Ray Palmer knew, that might be the last time he and Mick ever set eyes on each other again.

Guiltily, Barry closed his eyes. _None of this is real,_ he reminded himself.

That didn’t make him feel any less awful about Mick being dragged along on what was, to all intents and purposes, a suicide mission, purely on his say so. But Barry could see no other alternative. Kara _was_ real, and if she died in here, she died in reality. Whether or not that rule extended to bodily harm in general, he didn’t know - but if Tommy went too far, if he killed her…

This was a musical. It was supposed to be cutesy and chirpy and feel-good. All of this, however, was leaving a sour taste in Barry’s mouth.

“Barry!” Len called.

Weaving through the assembled crowd of men, Barry went to stand at Len’s left. Mick, as his second in command, flanked his right side.

“You ready?” Len asked in a low voice.

Barry nodded. “Ready.”

“Alright.” Raising his voice, Len said, “Alright, let’s move out. We’re gonna teach that little bastard a lesson about how to treat a woman, which _doesn’t_ involve smacking her around and forcibly throwing her into his car. And then when we’re done doing that, I say we cut off a few of his favourite limbs and send them off in the mail to his daddy. I got dibs on anything below the waist.”

A rumble of approval passed through the assembled horde of crooks. Barry just focused on keeping a blank expression and praying to god that Len wasn’t serious.

Unfortunately, he was at least ninety percent certain that he was very serious indeed.

~*~

 

At first it was impossible for Barry to get Len alone; Mick prowled at his side, looking askance at any of the underlings who tried to get presumptively close, and killing any chance at a private conversation. But eventually, the other man sloped off on Len’s command to go and check for stragglers or deserters in the ranks - apparently this Leonard Snart was no more tolerant of quitters than the real one had been.

Once Mick was safely out of earshot, Barry sidled closer to Len’s side. He’d realised that encouraging Len to set an entire mob of angry gangsters on Mon El was hardly following his side of the script, if he was supposed to be getting Len onto the straight and narrow. But maybe, he thought, there was still a way to salvage the situation. Although he wasn’t about to let Kara die just so his portion of the script could play out unhindered, he thought he might be able to turn things to his advantage.

“Have you ever thought that maybe there’s another answer?” he asked in a low voice.

“Another answer to what?”

“I mean...maybe we don’t have to kill Tommy. Maybe that isn’t the answer, you know? Responding to his crime with another, I mean, that doesn’t sound right. Maybe we can turn this around without violence.”

“Getting cold feet, Scarlet?” Len asked, with a small smile. He gave him a sideways glance. “Don’t worry. Like I’ve always said, your safety takes priority. After that, it’s mine, and Mick’s. Every other dumb bastard can take care of himself. If things go sour, we lose the advantage and I think things won’t pan out the way we want, I’ll cut my losses and get the hell outta dodge, don’t worry about that. You don’t have to be scared.”

“I’m not _scared,_ I - ”

“You started this,” Len reminded him, a little harshly. “I told you there’d be no going back. We see this through to the end, no matter what.”

“Well, sure, but maybe the end doesn’t have to be a bloodbath,” Barry said earnestly. “There are other ways of handling things. Sure, if we go in there all guns blazing, no way is Tommy gonna back down. But we don’t have to take that approach. We don’t have to rush straight in and start lopping bits off him. We could try talking to him.”

“Sure, and then afterwards we could ride home on a fluffy pink unicorn,” Len said, bitingly sarcastic. He gave Barry a sympathetic glance. “I know this is intimidating, Scarlet. It isn’t your world. But trust me to handle this. I know what I’m doing.”

“You said you didn’t want this life. You said you wanted out.”

“I want a lot of things. I want a multi-storey mansion with all the modern conveniences. I want lower gas prices. I want an overflowing bank account and a new suit for every day of the week, but this is the real world. Some things just aren’t realistic.”

“We can still get away from all this,” Barry said pleadingly. “If you kill Tommy, Cutter’s never gonna let you go. We’ll save Kara, sure, but then we’ll have to spend the rest of our lives fighting this stupid war. It doesn’t have to be like that. I needed your help to find Tommy and get past his guys, but once we’re in, we could reason with him. We could at least _try._ ”

“No can do. I’m not a natural negotiator. Shoot first, ask questions later, that’s my motto.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Barry said softly. “You’re a good person.”

Len didn’t break stride; he stared straight ahead, chin lifted, hat casting a shadow over his face. “That’s where you’re wrong. You think that because you love me, I can’t be a terrible person. Well I got news for you: it’s entirely possible to love someone awful. To love someone in spite of all their problems, everything that’s wrong with them. You think that because you care for me, and you’re a good person, that I must be a good person too. That’s not how this works.  
“There are two kinds of guys in this world, Scarlet: bad men, and dead ones. No prizes for guessing which one I’d rather be.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that. We can be better. We can do this the right way, and put all of this behind us.”

“This ain’t a storybook,” Len snapped. “Trust me, if I thought we could resolve this peacefully and go skipping off into the sunset hand in hand, I’d take it. But Tommy is Cutter’s kid, he’s probably already beaten your little friend into submission and left her to rot. There aren’t any happy endings for guys like me and him. There’s only one way to resolve this, and it involves a whole lot of bullets.”

“You’re wrong,” Barry said quietly.

He would prove it. He had to.

The way Len was looking at him made his stomach flutter unpleasantly. It wasn’t the cynical, amused look he would have expected. Instead, Len just looked tired. There was a distinct lack of hope in his expression.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Len told him. “But at the end of the day, it’s him or us. And I know which option I’m going to go for. Do you?”

~*~

They finally reached Tommy’s hideout, a large warehouse with suit-clad guards at every entrance. Crouching behind the shiny car that had been used to abduct Kara, Len dispatched his men to various points, delegating tasks as easily as breathing. Then he, Mick and Barry waited for them to be carried out.

The plan, as far as Barry could tell, was simple. Len’s gang were to subdue Tommy’s men as quietly as possible, so as not to alert anyone inside. Then they would surround the building, allowing Len and his inner circle to slip inside and go after Tommy. Under instructions to shoot Tommy or any of his entourage if they tried to make a break for it, the men would wait… and if things went wrong, and Len’s group didn’t make it out, they’d kill Tommy, torch the building, and fight amongst themselves until a new leader had been established… at which point, whoever he was would take over the ongoing war against Cutter.

The specificity of it concerned Barry, that they were all so certain things were going to end violently. Len had tried to convince him to stay behind, but Barry was determined he was going to see this through to the end, no matter what.

Until now he’d rarely had the chance to anticipate a fight; he’d always sort of been thrown into the deep end head first and ended up fighting for his life immediately. Now, he felt like a frog in a pot of tepid water, slowly being heated to boiling...but this frog knew what was coming. Had to fight the urge to hop out of the pot and run.

Not that running would do him any good. Without his speed, he was worse than useless. Under Len’s instructions, he clutched the pistol in his sweaty hands, but he didn’t think he had it in him to use it, even if all of this was just an elaborate illusion. Could he end someone’s life with no more effort than a squeeze of his finger? Barry didn’t think so.

He felt shaky. He wanted to throw up, he wanted to use the bathroom. He wanted to turn tail and flee. He did none of these things. Instead he waited, crouched in the cold behind the car with burning calves, waiting for Len’s signal.

Whatever you wanted to say about Len’s crew, they were efficient. It seemed like an eternity before Len spotted one of his men signalling him, flashed a hand-signal back and ushered Barry to his feet, but there had been no sound to suggest a handful of men being incapacitated. No alarms raised, no sign of a disturbance. When Barry, Mick and Len sprinted for the building, all tensed in case of an attack whilst they were exposed, Barry ran straight past the prone, suited body of a man and didn’t dare examine it too closely.

 _Not real,_ he reminded himself, and, _you’re a CSI, you’ve seen plenty of bodies before, get a grip_ \- but usually the bodies Barry had to see were long dead and completely vacant, not still warm and limp on the ground. It was easy to detach himself from the stiffening, day-old corpse of a stranger, but all too different to know that it was upon his orders, indirectly, that someone had been hurt. It made his stomach roil like a small, angry ocean, acid lapping viciously at his insides. Tasting acid, Barry resisted the urge to spit and instead put his head down and focused on running faster, until he was slamming into the wall of the warehouse and Len’s hand was on him, flattening him against the panels.

Holding him in place, Len raised his free hand to put a finger on his lips. Then he made a series of gestures which apparently made total sense to Mick, but whose meaning Barry could only hope to guess at. As best as he could tell, Len had spotted Tommy inside, and was dispensing further instructions. Not that he had a clue what those instructions were, and now Len was turning around, pointing his gun at the door.

Fumbling, Barry tried to mimic him, but his sweaty hands couldn’t get a good grip on the gun and then Len was holding his fingers up in a countdown, Barry’s ears were ringing and his mouth tasted like sawdust, and he felt incredibly ill. Then Len’s foot crashed into the door and it burst open, and they were rushing inside the dimly lit building, guns raised.

“Alright, hands off the girl,” Len was saying coldly, his gun levelled directly at Mon El’s chest.

There was an astonished pause as Mon El stared, frowning at the interruption. Kara was tied to a chair; when she saw Barry, her eyes widened and she started struggling violently against her bonds, but she didn’t speak. Her gaze fell upon the weapon in his hand, and she suddenly stopped and stared at him.

Kara Danvers could fire lasers from her eyes, but that perfectly ordinary, disappointed stare cut him far more deeply than any optical energy weapon could have. Ducking his head, Barry looked away.

A wave of motion cut through the room, then, as Mon El’s guards smoothly pointed their weapons at the intruders. Outside, with the entirety of Len’s gang at his back, Barry had felt fairly confident - but in here, the odds were far worse. Three of them against four gang members and Mon El, and Barry had no confidence in his ability to use the gun that he clutched in his sweaty grip. The way Kara was looking at him, he thought she might not actually be on his side in this situation. Barry’s head ached.

A clap as loud as a gunshot broke the silence, making him flinch; if the safety had been off on his gun, he’d definitely have fired it accidentally in his shock. Mon El advanced, slowly clapping, his eyes cold.

“You got me,” he said. “Well done. So what now?”

“So now you hand over the girl, we shoot you, and your daddy gets a couple of body parts in the mail,” Len said smoothly. “How’s that sound?”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to say no, fellas. Not that it isn’t a tempting offer.”

Len flicked the safety off his gun; the low click sounded incredibly loud in the quiet of the room. “I’m afraid I have to insist.”

Mon El - Tommy, Barry reminded himself - made a sharp hand-gesture. Immediately, his men stepped forwards.

Barry leapt backwards, but Len and Mick rose to the challenge, Mick also turning off the safety on his gun. The barrels were levelled not at their opponents, however, but squarely at Tommy.

To Barry’s surprise, Tommy seemed unperturbed by this development. He gave a very dangerous smile, like a shark watching a diver descend into its tank.

“Well, gentlemen. It seems we find ourselves at an impasse.”

“You have ten seconds to let go of the girl, or I start shooting,” Len said. He sounded almost bored. “Nine.”

Tommy kept grinning away. You’d have thought this was the best fun he’d had all day.

“Eight,” said Len.

Barry looked frantically from Len to Kara to Tommy, desperately trying to catch someone’s eye. No one was playing ball. Kara was staring with thinly veiled disgust at Len, Tommy was still smirking straight into Len’s face, and Len hadn’t taken his eyes off his target.

This was all going horribly wrong. They were going to kill each other, and he and Kara were never going to make it out of this universe even if they didn’t die here, on the floor of this dusty warehouse. Barry’s heart beat painfully quickly.

“Seven,” Len said.

“Stop!”

Barry lurched forwards, dropping his gun into the dust. He had no plan, no idea what the hell he was doing, but he dashed towards Tommy, who took a startled step backwards, clearly expecting an attack.

Swallowing, Barry stepped in front of Tommy, shielding him from Len and Mick’s line of fire.

Len stared at Barry with abject disgust. “What the hell are you doing? Get out of the way.”

“Don’t shoot him,” Barry said pleadingly.

“Move, Barry!”

“No,” Barry said. “You can’t. This isn’t right. You can’t...not like this.”

Turning his back on Len - a dangerous past-time, leaving himself open and exposed like that, but Barry could only hope that in this instance, his trust wasn’t unfounded - Barry turned the full force of his desperation on Tommy.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked. “What’s the point?”

“Excuse me?” Tommy said, raising his eyebrows.

“Why kidnap her?” clarified Barry, gesturing at Kara. “How exactly is that supposed to solve anything?”

“I love her,” Tommy said, in a tone which suggested he was speaking to an idiot.

“So you tied her to a chair?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Try me,” Barry said.

The atmosphere in the room was tense as a tightrope. There were still guns being pointed in every direction, Kara was still futilely struggling to free herself, and Barry felt as though he were balancing on the very brink of a precipice with wind buffeting at him from both sides… but he held his ground.

Tommy folded his arms. “Kara expects me to tell my father about our relationship, and if I don’t come clean, she’s going to leave me. I can’t allow that to happen.”

“You can’t tie me up forever!” Kara shouted.

Refusing to look at her, he said softly, “Not forever. Just until you understand.” He looked almost pleadingly at Barry. “My father would never let me marry a cabaret girl. She’s one of the staff. If he found out about us, Kara would lose her job and maybe her life. I’d never see her again. My father isn’t a forgiving man. He’d never let us get away with this.”

“I won’t be your dirty little secret, Mon El,” Kara said venomously. “If you can’t face up to the consequences of your actions, I want nothing to do with you _or_ your family.”

“Sweetheart, you come up with the strangest nicknames,” Tommy said fondly. Then he returned his attention to Barry. “Surely you can understand that I want what’s best for her, even if she doesn’t see it?”

“That’s not your decision to make.”

“It is. It has to be. I love her; I won’t lose her. Some day she’ll understand that I had to do this, for us. All of this is for Kara’s protection.”

“You can’t keep me in a cage like an animal! I’m not your property, Tommy, I’m a person! I can’t live with your lies any longer. You let me go. I’ll walk out of here, I’ll leave you to your father. You deserve each other.” Turning her face away from him, Kara glared at the wall.

“None of you understand,” Tommy said. He reached to touch Kara’s face; she jerked away from him, and with a sigh, he lowered his hand. “I don’t know how to explain it to you. But one day when this is all over, you’ll realise why I had to do this.”

“She won’t forgive you,” Barry said.

Tommy narrowed his eyes.

“It’s true,” Barry said. “Deny it all you want. Even if she did change her mind, even if she accepted this deceitful life you seem to want that she doesn’t want to be a part of, Kara’s always going to know that you forced her into it. You abducted her and tied her to a _chair_. No matter how things pan out, how can she trust you? Your relationship is tainted. She’s going to know that if you ever have another disagreement, you could just do the exact same thing. Relationships are all about give and take - that’s all relationships, not just romantic ones. You really think this is a healthy foundation to build upon? The two of you disagreed, sure. But instead of respecting Kara’s decision and discussing it, you kidnapped her! How is that rational? How is that healthy?”

"I can't tell my father about us," Tommy insisted. "There can't be a compromise here. I won't do it. You don't know him; he wouldn't rest until she was out of the way. He'd kill her, and then find me some nice obedient mob wife to cook my dinners and bear my children." He turned to Kara, who had reluctantly turned back to watch him. "I don't want that. I can't lose you."  
  
"Then why didn't you just _tell_ me that, Tommy?" she asked. "Why all the evasions and lies? If you had just been honest with me from the beginning, maybe I'd have understood. Instead you made me feel like you were ashamed of me."  
  
"I could never be ashamed of you. If anything..." He took a deep breath. "It's my father I'm ashamed of. Who he is. Who he's made me... this life he dragged me into. This was never what I wanted for either of us." Folding his arms, he said, "but none of that matters. I can't compromise on this."  
  
"Okay," Barry said. "So this is one issue you won't compromise on - and yet you expect Kara to just give in to you? That isn't how things work. If neither of you can come to an agreement, then you have to call it a day. Accept that you can't fix this and move on, for each other's sake."  
  
"But I love her!"  
  
"No one ever said love was easy," Barry said gently. "Sometimes it's the hardest thing in the world. It isn't always hearts and flowers. One of the most difficult, important parts of love is putting the other person's needs before your own. That doesn't always work out in your favour, but sometimes you have to put your own feelings aside and realise…” Barry hesitated, then said softly, almost to himself, “It's not just your feelings that matter."  
  
There was a long moment of silence. Len and Mick were still pointing their guns at him, waiting for any window of opportunity to shoot Tommy. The rival mobster was staring at Barry like he'd just said something very profound. But Barry, caught in the midst of his own sudden epiphany, couldn’t have cared less.

When Music Meister whammied him, he wasn’t speaking to Iris because of their argument. Her insistence that he should be focusing less on obsessively trying to counteract her future, and more on actually enjoying the time they had left. Not that he should stop trying to save her altogether, but that she wanted to try and keep things _normal_. To spend evenings together with their family and friends, watching movies, or playing board games, or eating dinner - not constantly hanging out at the lab whilst Cisco repeatedly vibed the future, searching for infinitesimal changes, and Barry stood morosely staring at their list of future events and coming up with ways to combat them.

At the time, Barry had been furious. Saving her had to be his priority; they didn’t have time for movies, or games! But in a rush of shame and understanding, he realised what he’d said to Tommy was just as true of himself. Iris’ life was in the balance; understandably she wanted to enjoy what she had left, rather than focusing on the axe hanging over her head. Just in case.

Barry was going to save her, of that he was certain. There was no alternative to that outcome. He refused to even consider it. But looking at things from Iris’ point of view...she thought she might die. Of course she would want to get away from that sometimes. To spend some quality time with her best friend, and not just obsess over her own approaching death.

Barry felt a sudden but intense urge to smack himself in the face. Pained by his own hypocrisy, he dragged himself back into the moment, where Tommy was gazing thoughtfully at Kara. She stared imploringly back, still tugging weakly on her restraints.

Barry said, “You gotta let her go, man.”

Tommy hesitated...and then glanced over Barry’s shoulder at Len. His expression hardened.

Turning, Barry looked Len in the eyes. “Put the gun down, Leonard.”

“Not a chance.”

“Len, please. It’s okay. We can resolve this like I said. No more fighting.”

“It’s a trick.”

“It isn’t.” Barry’s throat was dry. If he could fix this, if he could convince Len to let this go… he could go home. “Put the gun down.”

For a moment he thought he would fail, that Len wasn’t going to do it...but then a shudder rippled through the older man. Closing his eyes as though physically pained, Len lowered his gun.

Barry let out his breath in a rush.

Now only Mick remained, unwaveringly aiming over Barry’s shoulder. Even Len’s warning glance didn’t deter him.

“Mick.”

“It’s okay, Mick,” Barry said. “We don’t have to hurt him. We can do better than this. All of us.”

“The second I put down my gun, what’s to stop those bastards from blowing us all to kingdom come?” Mick demanded.

In all honesty Barry had forgotten that the five of them weren’t actually alone in the room. Aside from the fact that they were all pointing weapons towards him, Tommy’s henchmen were impressively unobtrusive. They hadn’t moved in several minutes; they blended into the background almost like furniture. Now his attention was back on them, however, Barry suddenly started to feel a little anxious. He hadn’t factored a whole bunch of strange henchmen into his plan.

His fears were unfounded, however. Frowning, Tommy turned to look at his men. Then, he made a dismissive noise. “Stand down, boys. Go guard the perimeter or something.” He gestured at the doorway where Barry and the others had entered.

“Be careful not to step on the bodies on your way out,” Len said mockingly. “Terribly sorry for the inconvenience. Ordinarily I don’t condone littering, but these were extenuating circumstances.”

“Leonard,” Barry hissed.

“Mob humour, Bartholomew. I keep telling you. You’ll understand the beauty of it one day.”

Barry shook his head. With a last wary look, the last of Tommy’s guards filed past them. Mick still had his gun out.

“Mick, you can put the gun down,” Len said. “Barry has this under control.”

Mick’s gaze flickered to Barry and back again, but he didn’t lower his gun. Hesitantly, Barry stepped towards him.

“It’s fine, Mick,” he said. “I got this. We’re all gonna go home after this. Ray’s waiting for you, remember? He wanted you to come home. You don’t have to shoot anybody to make that happen.”

Mick grumbled. “You sound just like him. Fucking hippy.” But eventually, he stowed his gun back in the breast pocket of his suit.

Such a massive influx of relief flooded Barry’s body at that moment that he actually went weak at the knees. Stumbling backwards, he hurried to Len’s side, where the older man put a supportive hand against the small of his back. Barry slumped against him, resisting the urge to lie down on the floor and breathe a great sigh of relief.

“Uh, Mon El?” said Kara. “You gonna untie me?”

“Oh!” Tommy said, and reached for her bonds. “You know, one day you’re going to have to explain to me why it is you call me ‘Mon-El’.”

“It’s a long story,” Kara said as the ropes fell away. Groaning, she rubbed her wrists. There were white imprints on both of them, ghostly bracelets where the ropes had been pulling too tightly. “ _Man,_ it feels good to have those off.”

Tommy was staring at the marks. “I...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Well that’s usually what happens when you kidnap someone and tie them to a chair,” Kara said a little sharply.

He looked at his feet. “...I blew it, didn’t I?”

“You kind of did,” Kara agreed. “And I know you have your reasons... _had_ your reasons. I understand that now. And I can empathise. But that doesn’t change the fact that you lied, and I can’t accept that...Trust is important to me, and after what you did, I can’t trust you any more. We’re not going to work out, Tommy. I’m sorry.”

Barry knew he shouldn’t feel sorry for Tommy - after all, he’d abducted Kara and had his henchman punch Barry in the head - and he was pretty sure he shouldn’t feel sorry for the real Mon El either, although he had to admit he wasn’t as well-informed of the facts of that situation. But the way the man hung his head and scuffed his feet like a chastised schoolboy made it hard to stay mad at him...maybe that was the point. Barry folded his arms and stayed silent. He’d said his piece.

“Would you ever give me another chance?” Tommy asked. “Some day?”

“I...I’d have to think about it,” she said cautiously. “It’d take a long time to build up that level of trust again. I don’t think I’ll ever really forget what you did. But maybe one day, if you can bring yourself to step away from your family’s influence and learn to be honest with me, and to actually talk to me instead of just going off on your own…” She gave him a small smile. “Maybe I could come to care for you again.”

Tommy still looked crestfallen. Kara kindly put a hand on his arm.

“It’s not a no,” she said gently. “It’s...a possibility. And in the meantime, we can still be friends, right?”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too,” Kara said. “Why don’t you walk me to your car? You can drive me back to the club.”

"Sure," said Tommy, offering her his arm.  
  
"Hang on a second," said Kara. "I just have to have a private word with Barry before we go."  
  
Drawing Barry off to one side, Kara said in a low voice, "I don't think we've got much longer here. I'm getting this tingly feeling. You'd better wrap things up with Leonard, I don't know how much longer we have."  
  
Barry felt a strange tug in his stomach - part apprehension, part excitement. As nice as it had been to have a little escape from the mess with Savitar, he could have done without the stress of being beaten up and threatened. And he couldn't hide here forever; he needed to get back home and keep working on saving Iris...but not so obsessively this time. Thanks to his little epiphany, he now understood what Music Meister had been trying to teach him. He needed to value his friend while he had her, and not focus quite so intensely on things that were yet to come. Otherwise, he’d have lost her all the sooner without even realising it.

Still. There were certain things about this universe, he had to admit, that he was going to miss.

Kara patted him on the shoulder, took Tommy’s arm and allowed him to escort her towards the exit. They were halfway out when Tommy stopped and said suddenly, “Snart.”

Barry felt a sudden chill that had little to do with the draughtiness of the warehouse. They all turned. All of a sudden Barry felt ill. Of course he should have known it wouldn’t be that easy; Tommy and Len were enemies, he was the son of Len’s greatest rival, and in their culture, they didn’t let these kinds of things slide. Len had ordered the deaths of dozens of Tommy’s lackeys and pointed a gun at his head.

Kara’s storyline had been resolved; she had her happy ending. But Barry and Leonard’s wasn’t over.

“Problem?” Len drawled. He slipped his hand into his pocket.

“I never wanted this,” Tommy said. “It was all down to how I was raised. Ever since I was a child I knew who my father was, and what he did… I’ve always known it’s a legacy I would someday inherit. He taught me a lot of things. How to be cruel and cold. These seem like talents you’re pretty familiar with yourself.”

 _No,_ Barry thought. _Please. Not after everything, don’t let Tommy turn on him now._ He stepped closer to Len’s side, his palms getting slippery. Still, he refused to let his fear show on his face.

“Ever since I can remember I’ve had it drummed into me that I have to fight to keep my crown,” Tommy was saying, moving back into the room. Kara reached out as if to stop him, but her hand grasped only empty air. “And I know for a fact that my father’s been planning for years to try and take you down. If he fails to succeed, one day that mantle, that purpose, is going to be passed on to me.”

Mick and Len were watching Tommy the way one might watch a dangerous animal that hasn’t yet spotted you, but could turn and attack at any second. Barry’s thoughts whirled frantically as he tried to figure out how he could stop this, whether he could talk his way out of it again - but interrupting Tommy right now seemed like madness. He was almost speaking to himself, frowning slightly as if in confusion.

Looking up, he said, “My father wants you dead, Snart.”

“My condolences,” Len said. “He’ll have to get in line.”

Barry shot him a look. Sometimes he wished Leonard Snart knew when to shut up. The man seemed determined to die with a quip on his lips. Taunting Tommy, though, was bordering on suicidal.

“I’m not my father,” said Tommy.

He took a step forward. Barry grabbed Len’s arm, his heart pounding.

“I’d like to offer you a deal.”

Len’s eyes narrowed. “...What sort of a deal?”

“My father isn’t going to live forever. He has enemies - even if he doesn’t, one day he’ll be too old for this. It’s a dangerous business we deal in; can’t have a pensioner running the city. Old age will take him if nothing else does. One day, his mantle, his gang....that’s all going to get passed down to me.” He lifted his chin. “I don’t want it. I’ve never wanted it.

“I’m going to disband. He doesn’t know it. But when it’s time for me to inherit, I’m going to call off the men, have them disperse. Make it very clear to them that if they try to reform, I know who they are and where they live and won’t hesitate to make them regret it.”

“So what? You’ll step down? Leave me and my guys to take over the city?”

“Maybe,” Tommy said. “If that’s what you want. Or...there could be an alternative.”

“Such as?”

“There are plenty of ways to gain power. Legitimate ways, for example. Money and resources fairly dealt out, no risk of getting caught by cops. I want to run for mayor.”

They all stared at him.

“As mayor I’ll have the same influence I’ve always had - maybe more. And I won’t have to defend it from other gangs. Just rival politicians, which might actually be more dangerous, but I’ll take that as it comes. I’ll have the power to make changes, to rule the city from the spotlight instead of the shadows. I’d like you on my side, Snart. As part of my campaign.”

“You want _me_ in your office?” Len said incredulously.

Tommy shrugged. “Or me in yours. I figured if you’d be interested. We could both run for mayor, side by side. Whoever wins, it wouldn’t matter. We could be partners, running the city together. No more hiding. You’d have just as much security detail, and the power to change things without having to resort to violence. We could put all this behind us. If you wanted.”

“You must be out of your damn mind.”

“Probably. But I’m a man of vision. It could take a long time before my dreams come to light, I won’t lie to you. My father isn’t stepping down any time soon. But when he does… I’ll have power, influence… and I’ll be free to marry Kara. If she wants.” He glanced at her and smiled shyly. “No more hiding.”

Kara beamed from the doorway.

“Mayor Snart,” Len mused. “I gotta say, it does have a certain ring to it.”

“So?” said Tommy. “You and I, future business partners. Disbanding our criminal organisations, heading onto the straight and narrow...what do you say?”

Barry was on tenterhooks. He had to strongly resist the urge to start chewing his nails. Praying that Len wouldn’t throw it back in Tommy’s face, having the awful feeling that he might. Tommy’s hand was outstretched, his expression confident.

Len looked down at Tommy’s fingers. For a terrible moment Barry thought he was going to scoff and slap his hand away…

Then Len reached out and took the proffered hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he said. “Just so you know, I’ll be expecting you to make good on your promises. If not...let’s just say I know how to make trouble.”

“I do seem to recall you mentioning a few bodies outside.”

“Yes, sorry about that,” Len said with a remarkable lack of sincerity.

Tommy waved it away. “Write it off and call it collateral. These things happen. I think you and I are going to have a beautiful future together, Mr. Snart.”

“In office,” said Leonard. “Just to confirm. Because the rest of my future is right here beside me.” He tugged Barry close to his side.

“Oh, trust me,” Tommy said. “For that side of things, he’s all yours.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I know things won’t change right away. But for the future…” Once again, he offered Kara his arm.

“To the future,” Len said, tipping his hat.

And with that, Tommy took Kara’s arm and they left without looking back. Mick followed, muttering something about ‘rounding up the boys’ - and then Barry and Leonard were alone in the quiet, and Barry suddenly couldn’t bring himself to look Len in the eye. An uncontrollable smile was threatening to spread across his face.

Len turned to him, caught his chin and tipped his face up. “Penny for your thoughts, Scarlet.”

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Barry said.

“Neither can I,” Len admitted. “Who’d ever have thought Cutter’s kid had a secret hankering to be a white hat? ...What do you think? Me, running for mayor?”

“I think it’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard,” Barry admitted. “But...I think you’d be good at it. Bossing people about. That always has kind of been your forte. And as mayor, you could change things around here. I know you couldn’t change the world, but we’d have security. No one could hurt us any more. No more hiding - well. Not as much. And no more rival gangs breathing down our necks.”

“Mm,” Len agreed. “You know, it’s a shame we’re going to have to wait so long...Cutter’s hardly in the prime of his youth, but he ain’t gonna bite the bullet any time soon. It’s unfortunate that killing Tommy's daddy probably wouldn’t do any favours for the future of our partnership.”

“Len!” Outraged, Barry shoved him.

Len grinned. “Just a little joke, Scarlet.”

“Mob humour,” Barry said fondly.

“Precisely. Knew you’d get the hang of it.” Len leaned down to kiss him. “You were right,” he murmured against Barry’s lips. “Swear to god I’ll kill you myself if you ever take a risk like that again...but you were right, Scarlet. There was another way. A better way.”

“Told you,” Barry said, a little smug.

“So you did.” Len put his arms around Barry’s neck. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For not being afraid to stand up to me. For helping me to pull my head out of my ass. Guys like me with an entire gang at their disposal tend to forget how to play by the rules. We aren’t used to being told what to do...but you’ve never been afraid to tell it to me straight. You and I are going to have a totally different life someday. Thanks to you.”

He stepped back a little, his arms sliding free. Confused, Barry tried to move with him. He was starting to get a strange tingling sensation, and he realised that as Kara mentioned, he was starting to be pulled back into the real world. For all his intentions to let go without a fight, a part of him didn’t want to let go. Even though it had only been for a few hours, he’d found a strange kind of security in the arms of Leonard Snart.

But Len gently stepped away from his embrace, backing a short distance away. Barry paused, frowning, wondering what was happening, whether this was part of it. Whether somehow, Len _knew._

Then Len opened his mouth and sang,

“ _I’ve heard it said,_

 _That people come into our lives for a reason._ ”

“Oh God,” said Barry. “Really?”

“ _Bringing something we must learn,_

_And we are led to those_

_Who help us most to grow, if we let them,_

_And we help them in return._ ”

Barry buried his face in his hands. Random singing might be perfectly normal in this universe, but now he was actually having to suffer through it, it struck him as incredibly embarrassing… and it was _Leonard Snart._ Singing _Wicked._ Mortified, Barry hid behind his fingers.

“ _Well I don’t know if I believe that’s true -_ ”

“Please don’t do this,” Barry said. “This is so embarrassing.”

“ _But I know I’m who I am today because I knew you…”_

Len moved forwards and gently tugged Barry’s hands away from his face. He held them, smiling, with such an uncharacteristically happy look on his face that Barry almost forgot his embarrassment. Forgot to hide his burning cheeks, and the goofy grin he could feel fighting its way onto his face.

This was horrifically cheesy, but he figured...maybe he should just try to enjoy it?

“ _Like a comet pulled from orbit,_

_As it passes a sun,_

_Like a stream that meets a boulder,_

_Halfway through the wood.”_

“You’d die if the real you could see you right now.”

“ _Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better?”_

Lifting Barry’s hand to his mouth, Len kissed it.

“ _But because I knew you, I have been changed for good._ ”

The tingling sensation was getting stronger now, a more insistent pull. He didn’t have long left - probably no longer than the duration of the song, and then he was going to have to leave, and never see this Leonard Snart again. Their relationship, from his perspective, had been both short and hectic...but strong. He’d truly felt something for Leonard, in this strange universe. Something more than the interest, the visceral attraction they’d shared back on his earth. There was something more tangible about this, about the way he’d let Leonard love him. Something he knew he wouldn’t forget. He had a feeling that in spite of his determination not to get attached, he was going to miss the strange, sweet relationship he’d had with this fictional figure in an alternate universe in the 1940s.

Barry figured they might as well go out with a bang. Shaking his head in amusement, he took Len’s hands in his and faced him - and then he started to sing, picking up the next verse with a sheepish grin.

“ _It well may be,_

_That we will never meet again in this lifetime,_

_So let me say before we part,_

_So much of me is made of what I learned from you,_

_You’ll be with me,_

_Like a handprint on my heart._ ”

He gripped Len’s hands more tightly, as if to anchor himself in this moment through determination alone. His heart beat faster. His cheeks ached from the force of his smile, and Leonard smiled back at him - something small and private, and theirs.

Lowering his voice, Barry sang softly, “ _And now whatever way our stories end,_

 _I know you have rewritten mine by being my…_ ” He stumbled a little, then figured a little lyric change couldn’t hurt. _“Boyfriend…_ ”

Len’s eyes twinkled.

“ _Like a ship blown from its mooring,_ ” Barry sang, “ _By a wind off the sea,_

_Like a seed dropped by a sky bird in a distant wood,_

_Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better, but_

_Because I knew you…_ ”

“ _Because I knew you,_ ” Len sang quietly.

“ _I have been changed for good_ ,” finished Barry, still smiling so hard that it hurt.

Silence fell, then. The tingling sensation was spreading, like his whole body was going to sleep. Not quite pins and needles; it was too gentle for that, too peaceful. A strange lightness, nothing like the sudden violence with which he’d been catapulted into this world. It was as though, having soothed and gentled the story that had been born here, he’d also softened the edges of the doorway he was being pulled through. Or maybe Music Meister was just a little more inclined to be kind, now that he’d followed the script.

Barry didn’t care. He focused on Leonard’s face, knowing that soon it would be gone. He ached for one last kiss, but maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. After all, maybe he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“You’re a good man, Leonard,” he said. “Don’t ever forget that.”

Len smiled and cupped Barry’s cheek with his hand. His thumb danced lightly across Barry’s cheekbone. “With you at my side to remind me, how could I forget?”

Barry managed to smile back. Then, Len leaned in for a kiss.

It was their last kiss, Barry knew, in typical storybook fashion; he clung on for all he was worth, holding Leonard tightly against him. Len returned his embrace with equal fervour, but things were blurring out of focus and Barry was starting to go numb, his whole body reverberating with a strange static fuzz.

Swallowing, he let go.

He was drifting, sliding away into peaceful silence. It wouldn’t last for long, he knew. Leonard was already lost to him, and there was another world waiting for him to come back to. A world of gods and monsters, where music was optional. A world where Leonard Snart was dead and gone, but Iris West was alive, and waiting for him to resume his role as protector...but more importantly, best friend.

In the strange in between space, Barry thought distantly of Kara and Mon El, and whether this experience would have changed anything between them. Certainly he felt wiser for it; he’d have to thank Music Meister for providing such an insight. This was an experience he intended to learn from.

And, with his heart beating rapidly and the sound of his friends’ excited voices in his ears, Barry prepared to return to a world where, he was hoped, everyone and everything could change for the better - even Leonard Snart.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so my original plan for this was ‘a short one-shot to give me a little break from my huge WIP, probably going to be about 5k.’ 
> 
>  
> 
> Originally I wasn’t sure whether to post this under the alternate earths prompt, but general consensus was that it was a better fit for ‘under the influence’, so...thanks to everyone on tumblr who helped me decide!
> 
> Huge thank you for reading, and feedback is always appreciated :D


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